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UNGAVA BOB 


THE HUBBARD EXPLORING EXPEDITION 


By DILLON WALLACE 

The Lure of the 
Labrador Wild 

Illustrated 8vo Cloth $1.50 net. 

New York Sun: “A remarkable story, and we are much mistaken 
If it does not become a classic among tales of exploration.” 

Chicago Evening Post : “Two continents became interested in the 
stories that came out of the wild about the hardships of the Hubbard 
expedition Wallace’s story and record — they are inseparable — poS' 
sesses in its naked truth more of human interest than scores of volumes 
of imaginative acf^e^tUr^Jlnd roji^anc^^f^he \ 

Review of Reviews : “The chronicle of high, noble purpose and 
achievement and it appeals to the finest, best, and most virile in man.” 

Chicago Record-Herald : ‘‘One of the most fascinating books of 
travel and adventure in the annals of recent American exploration. 
Every man or boy who has ever heard the ‘red gods’ of the wilder- 
ness calling will revel in these graphic pages, in which the wild odor 
of the pines, the roar of rapids, the thrill of the chase and of thicken- 
ing dangers come vividly to the senses. ” 

New York Evening Post : ‘‘The story is told simply and well. It 
maybe added that for tragic adventure it has scarcely a parallel ex- 
cept in Arctic exploration.” 

New York Evening Mail: * ‘A chronicle of the expedition from 
first to last, and a fine tribute to the memory of Hubbard, whose spirit 
struggled with such pitiable courage against the ravages of a purely 
physical breakdown The story itself is well told.” 

Chicago Inter-Ocean : ‘‘In the records of the explorations of 
recent years there is no more tragic story than that of Hubbard’s at- 
tempt to cross the great unexplored and mysterious region of the 
northeastern portion of the North American continent Wallace him- 
self narrowly escaped death in the Labrador wild, but, having been 
rescued,he has brought out of that unknown land a remarkable story.” 

Brooklyn Eagle: ‘‘One of the very best stories of a canoe trip into 
the wilds ever written,” 


TOURTH EDITION 





Three of the men hauled, the other with a pole, kept 
it clear of the rocks (»Sfee page )5) 


A Winter's "Tale 


By 

DILLON WALLACE 

Author of ** The Lure of the Labrador Wild** 


ILL US TRATED 

By 

SAMUEL M. PALMER 



^Xkronto 

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New^ToY k . 

sunovA dijcdfivv ;o§bdi;I..‘ 

F I emi ngy HMRe*D e I hiComp a ny 


London^;, . Edinburgh 


Copyright, 1907, by 
FLEMING H. REVELL COMPANY 




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LJifiriAHY of CONGRESS f 
I wo CoDies Received 

SEP 9 ISOf 

^CoDvnehf entry 

'S(EA‘'-aa 

I 


New York: 158 Fifth Avenue 
Chicago: 80 Wabash Avenue 
Toronto: 25 Richmond Street, W. 
London: 21 Paternoster Square 
Edinburgh: 100 Princes Street 


To My Sisters 
Annie and ^"Jessie 


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BOB 

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j. a»UN'Q^VA“ 

2 woo miv^ 8^00 

jbBariiavo allu^ ■3nh£02 iB aworic ^orla 

fiD£9 2 £ tioqa ibfii h j ylauo^^oi bsri^u^I bnu; 

2 ^ob How (Ha 2 ji b t? -lA Ifsl wonjs ' 

, HOW BOB GOT HIS /'TRAIL” , 

(920101 lo 2 J:' ‘ loi -gfii.iooi ,919m boj' 9i9n boHIuHe 


I T was aa evisningiin ^rly September twenty 
years ago. The sun was just setting Mi a 
, I r radiance ?ofr glory behind the dark spruce for- 


est that hid the great unknown, unexplored Lab- 


rador wilderness which stretched away a thousand 
miles to the/ rocky shores: of t Hudson’s Bay and 
the bleak desolation oof Ungava. q With ^ their 
back to; thdi forest and the setting sun, drawn up 
in martialriJinoestood the eight fior ten white- 
washed Jog buildings of the Hu-dson’s Bay Gomr 
pany Post, just? as they had stood ion a hundred 
years, and just as they stand to-day^ t looking out 
up(^ the wide; waters of Eskimo Bay^ which now, 
reflecting the glow of the setting sun, shone red 
and sparkling hke sa sea of rubies) do9 

On a clearing to the eastward of the post be- 
tween the , woods and water was an irregular 
cluster of deerskin . wigwams, t aroundb which 


9 


lO 


UNGAVA BOB 


loitered dark-hued Indians puffing quietly at 
their pipes, while Indian women bent over 
kettles steaming at open fires, cooking the 
evening meal, and little Indian boys with bows 
shot harmless arrows at soaring gulls overhead, 
and laughed joyously at their sport as each 
arrow fell short of its mark. Big wolf dogs 
skulked here and there, looking for bits of refuse, 
snapping and snarling ill-temperedly at each 
other. 

A group of stalwart, swarthy-faced men, 
dressed in the garb of northern hunters — light- 
coloured moleskin trousers tucked into the tops of 
long-legged sealskin moccasins, short jackets and 
peakless caps— stood before the post kitchen or 
lounged upon the rough board walk which ex- 
tended the full length of the reservation in front 
of the servants’ quarters and storehouses. They 
were watching a small sailboat that, half a mile 
out upon the red flood, was bowling in before a 
smart breeze, and trying to make out its single 
occupant. Finally some one spoke. 

“ ’Tis Bob Gray from Wolf Bight, for that’s 
sure Bob’s punt.” 

“ Yes,” said another, “ ’tis sure Bob.” 

Their curiosity satisfied, all but two strolled 


HOW BOB GOT HIS TRAIL 


II 


into the kitchen, where supper had been an- 
nounced. 

Douglas Campbell, the older of the two that 
remained, was a short, stockily built man with a 
heavy, full, silver-white beard, and skin tanned 
dark as an Indian’s by the winds and storms of 
more than sixty years. A pair of kindly blue 
eyes beneath shaggy white eyebrows gave his 
face an appearance at once of strength and gen- 
tleness, and an erect bearing and well-poised head 
stamped him a leader and a man of importance. 

The other was a tall, wiry, half-breed Indian, 
with high cheek bones and small, black, shifting 
eyes that were set very close together and im- 
parted to the man a look of craftiness and 
cunning. He was known as “ Micmac John,” 
but said his real name was John Sharp. He had 
drifted to the coast a couple of years before on a 
fishing schooner from Newfoundland, whence he 
had come from Nova Scotia. From the coast he 
had made his way the hundred and fifty miles to 
the head of Eskimo Bay, and there took up the 
life of a trapper. Rumour had it that he had 
committed murder at home and had run away to 
escape the penalty ; but this rumour was unveri- 
fied, and there was no means of learning the 


12 


t^'UNGAVA bob uj roj] 


truth pf it^ i ; Siuce his arrival here, , the hunters 
had lost, now and again, martens and foxes frpm 
their tr^p^,; and -itb^vas,. whispered; that- 
John was. responsible forutheir disappearance, 
Nevertheless, without any, tangible iCvidence that 
he , haclj, stolen , them,, he was treated , with Mnd^ 
ness, though he hsa,d made no real, friends amongst 
the natives. nirivv - j ' bji-'ird esyt: 

_n;Whea the -last pj^the men q had closed the 
kitchen door behind . him, f Micmaci^John ap- 
proached ^Douglas, who had; been standing, some^ 
what apart, evi4eatly[ lost; in his, thoughts as he 
watched the approaching boat, : and aske ^ }{ , j j ^ 

‘f Have ye ; decided about the Big Hill trail, 
sir/;” ■ fMi.no k' >ir'oI B iiBm -hH Ji 
f5‘iYes, John,*l 

<iB r]won>f ‘Ofiuc/ 

“ And ana, L to hun|: itthis year, sir,?; r! btjj^ Ju i 
**. No, John, I can’t let rye have, un. ,1, told, Bob 
Gray, th’ day I’d let him hunt un.; 3 /Bob^s..a snaart 
lad, and I wants t’ give, he th’ chance?. S’ i : 

; Micmac John cast; af^maJiciouS; glance, at old 
Douglas. Then j with an^asspnaed indifference, 
and shrug pf ,his shoulders as he sjtmfted to, walk 
away, remarked jj- labium bsnimj ■ 

; /J All right ff f y ou’ yet made yer^mind up, but 
you’ll be sorry, fer it’! , , 


HOW BOB iGOT) TRAIL 


^3 


..Douglas turned:fierq^l5r,,i^ppa him, 9^ fi fi 

./‘What inqani^Qu,.,maPi?w Pei^thaLa threat^,? 

SpQak{npWsI/^n/JfJ;>;;i {|j.^ ]<> jlu;: 

: ^‘J,fmake up .tihreat^y butiboj^s,^^ 
he'll bring ye no fur. Ye'll geLliothiu’ ier yjsi^ 
pains.. Xe’Wi.beiSprry fer.^.' nariT 

,, “ Well,/', said iDpuglas a^ Mipmac J walked 
a^^ay^tPi join thp.jpthers |^5the..kkphe% nJIy;^ 
promised th'i lad^ att'i .what, I promisesr I rdo^,, ap/ 
I'Jl staudi by it,''j bt>qqil« ,U lol gniiiDuoi ni bnu 
i . , Bob Gray^ sitting at -the dlfeii Ws litd^ pwk 
The Hoven wasiypyyt happy-rrhappy ,the 

world Tvas,: so beautiful* happy bepauseiihe liyex^, 
and especially happy becauset of ^ the r great gppd 
fortune that i had. come -tp . himj this , day , when 
Douglas Cainpbelli granted his rpquqs^t itpietihim 
hunt the Big Hill trail, with its twp hundred gopd 
marten ; and; fpxbinps., / ’ .‘^onre i; v':>n 

nit had; been a year of mistortijneifpr theGrayp. 
The previous , winter { when Bob’si fether . started 
out upon; hisi itrapping trail a wpjyerin^ persist- 
ently and systematically followed l^ipliride^trpy- 
ing almost eyety^fox and^mafteunthatr! hei /had 
caught.) , 41k known methods: tpf catch er kiJI,, the 
animali worpi resorted , tO)( but ;withithp eunning 
that its prehistoric aupestors had handed jdown (to 


14 


UNGAVA BOB 


it, it avoided every pitfall. The fox is a poor 
bungler compared with the wolverine. The re- 
sult of all this was that Richard Gray had no 
fur in the spring with which to pay his debt at 
the trading store. 

Then came the greatest misfortune of all. 
Emily, Bob’s little sister, ventured too far out 
upon a cliff one day to pluck a vagrant wild 
flower that had found lodgment in a crevice, 
and in reaching for it, slipped to the rocks be- 
low. Bob heard her scream as she fell, and 
ran to her assistance. He found her lying there, 
quite still and white, clutching the precious 
blossom, and at first he thought she was dead. 
He took her in his arms and carried her tenderly 
to the cabin. After a while she opened her eyes 
and came back to consciousness, but she had 
never walked since. Everything was done for 
the child that could be done. Every man and 
woman in the Bay offered assistance and sug- 
gestions, and every one of them tried a remedy ; 
but no relief came. 

All the time things kept going from bad to 
worse with Richard Gray. Few seals came in 
the bay that year and he had no fat to trade at 
the post. The salmon fishing was a flat failure. 


HOW BOB GOT HIS “ TRAIL 


15 


As the weeks went on and Emily showed no 
improvement Douglas Campbell came over to 
Wolf Bight with the suggestion, 

“ Take th’ maid t^ th* mail boat doctor. He’ll 
sure fix she up.” And then they took her — Bob 
and his mother — ninety miles down the bay to 
the nearest port of call of the coastal mail boat, 
while the father remained at home to watch his 
salmon nets. Here they waited until finally the 
steamer came and the doctor examined Emily. 

“ There’s nothing I can do for her,” he said. 
“ You’ll have to send her to St. Johns to the hos- 
pital. They’ll fix her all right there with a little 
operation.” 

“ An’ how much will that cost ? ” asked Mrs. 
Gray. 

“Oh,” he replied, “ not over fifty dollars — fifty 
dollars will cover it.” 

“ An’ if she don’t go ? ” 

“ She’ll never get well.” Then, as a dismissal 
of the subject, the doctor, turning to Bob, asked : 
“ Well, youngster, what’s the outlook for fur next 
season ? ” 

“ We hopes there’ll be some, sir.” 

“ Get some silver foxes. Good silvers are 
worth five hundred dollars cash in St. Johns.” 


16 


UNGAVA BOB 


‘ The mail boat steamed away with the doctor, 
and Bob and his mother, with Emily made as 
comfortable as possible in the bottom of the boat, 
turned homeward. 

It was hard to realize that Emily would never 
be well again, that she would never romp over 
the rocks with Bob in the summer or ride with 
him on the sledge when he took the dogs to haul 
wood in the winter. There would be no more 
merry laughter as she played about the cabin. 
This was before the days when the mission 
doctors with their ships and hospitals came to the 
Labrador to give back life to the sick and dying 
of the coast. Fifty dollars was more money than 
any man of the bay save Douglas Campbell had 
ever seen, and to expect to get such a sum was 
quite hopeless, for in those days the hunters were 
always in debt to the company, and all they ever 
received for their labours were the actual necessi- 
ties of life, and not always these. 

Emily was the only cheerful one now of the 
three. When she saw her mother crying, she 
took her hand and stroked it, and said : “ Mother, 
dear, don’t be cryin’ now. ’ Tis not so bad. If 
God wants that I get well He’ll make me well. 
An’ I wants to stay home with you an’ see you 


HOW BOB GOT HIS “TRAIL 


17 


an^ father an^ Bob, an^ Fd be dreadful homesick 
to go off so far.'^ 

Emily and Bob had always been great chums 
and the blow to him seemed almost more than 
he could bear. His heart lay in his bosom like a 
stone. At first he could not think, but finally he 
found himself repeating what the doctor had said 
about silver foxes, — “ five hundred dollars cash.” 
This was more money than he could imagine, 
but he knew it was a great deal. The company 
gave sixty dollars in trade for the finest silver 
foxes. That was supposed a liberal price — but 
five hundred dollars in cash / 

He looked longingly towards the blue hills 
that held their heads against the distant sky 
line. Behind those hills was a great wilderness 
rich in foxes and martens — but no man of the 
coast had ever dared to venture far within it. 
It was the land of the dreaded Nascaupees, the 
savage red men of the North, who it was said 
would torture to a horrible death any who came 
upon their domain. 

The Mountaineer Indians who visited the bay 
regularly and camped in summer near the post, 
told many tales of the treachery of their northern 
neighbours, and warned the trappers that they 


i8 


UNGAVA BOB 


had already blazed their trails as far inland as it 
was safe for them to go. Any hunter encroach- 
ing upon the Nascaupee territory, they insisted, 
would surely be slaughtered. 

Bob had often heard this warning, and did not 
forget it now ; but in spite of it he felt that cir- 
cumstances demanded risks, and for Emily’s sake 
he was willing to take them. If he could only get 
traps, he would make the venture, with his 
parents’ consent, and blaze a new trail there, for 
it would be sure to yield a rich reward. But to 
get traps needed money or credit, and he had 
neither. 

Then he remembered that Douglas Campbell 
had said one day that he would not go to the 
hills again if he could get a hunter to take the 
Big Hill trail to hunt on shares. That was an in- 
spiration. He would ask Douglas to let him 
hunt it on the usual basis — two-thirds of the fur 
caught to belong to the hunter and one-third to 
the owner. With this thought Bob’s spirits rose. 

“’Twill be fine — ’twill be a grand chance,” 
said he to himself, “ an Douglas lets me hunt un, 
an father lets me go.” 

He decided to speak to Douglas first, for if 
Douglas was agreeable to the plan his parents 


HOW BOB GOT HIS TRAIL 


19 


would give their consent more readily. Other- 
wise they might withhold it, for the trail was 
dangerously close to the forbidden grounds of 
the Nascaupees, and anyway it was a risky un- 
dertaking for a boy — one that many of the ex- 
perienced trappers would shrink from. 

The more Bob considered his plan with all 
its great possibilities, the more eager he be- 
came. He found himself calculating the number 
of pelts he would secure, and amongst them per- 
haps a silver fox. He would let the mail boat 
doctor sell them for him, and then they would be 
rich, and Emily would go to the hospital, and be 
his merry, laughing little chum again. How 
happy they would all be ! Bob was young and 
an optimist, and no thought of failure entered his 
head. 

It was too late the night they reached home to 
see Douglas but the next morning he hurried 
through his breakfast, which was eaten by candle- 
light, and at break of day was off for Kenemish, 
where Douglas Campbell lived. He found the 
old man at home, and, with some fear of refusal, 
but still bravely, for he knew the kind-hearted 
old trapper would grant the request if he thought 
it were wise, explained his plan. 


20 


UNGAVA BOB 


“You’re a stalwart lad, Bob,” said Douglas, 
looking at the boy critically from under his 
shaggy eyebrows. “ An’ how old may you be 
now ? I ’most forgets — young folks grows up so 
fast.” 

“Just turned sixteen, sir.” 

“ An’ that’s a young age for a lad to be so far 
in th’ bush alone. But you’ll be havin’ somethin’ 
happen t’ you.” 

“I’ll be rare careful, sir, an’ you lets me ha’ th’ 
trail.” 

“ An’ what says your father ? ” 

“ I’s said nothin’ to he, sir, about it yet.” 

“ Well, go ask he, an’ he says yes, meet me at 
the post th’ evenin’ an’ I’ll speak wi’ Mr. Mac- 
Donald t’ give ye debt for your grub. Micmac 
John ’s wantin’ th’ trail, but I’m not thinkin’ t’ 
let he have un.” 

At first Bob’s parents both opposed the proj- 
ect. The dangers were so great that his mother 
asserted that if he were to go she would not have 
an easy hour until she saw her boy again. But 
he put forth such strong arguments and plead 
so vigorously, and his disappointment was so 
manifest, that finally she withdrew her objections, 
and his father said : 








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“Bob jumped out with the painter in his hand” 






HOW BOB GOT HIS TRAIL 


21 


** Well, you may go, my son, an Douglas lets 
you have th’ trail/* 

So Bob, scarcely sixteen years of age, was to do 
a man’s work and shoulder a man’s burden, and 
he was glad that God had given him stature be- 
yond his years, that he might do it. He could 
not remember when he had not driven dogs and 
cut wood and used a gun. He had done these 
things always. But now he was to rise to the 
higher plane of a full-fledged trapper and the 
spruce forest and the distant hills beyond the 
post seemed a great empire over which he was 
to rule. Those trackless fastnesses, with their 
wealth of fur, were to pay tribute to him, and he 
was happy in the thought that he had found a 
way to save little Emily from the lifelong ex- 
istence of a poor crippled invalid. His buoyant 
spirit had stepped out of the old world of dark- 
ness and despair into a new world filled with 
light and love and beauty, in which the present 
troubles were but a passing cloud. 

“ Ho, lad ! so your father let ye come. I’s glad 
t’ see ye, lad. An’ now we’re t’ make a great 
hunt,” greeted Douglas when the punt ground 
its nose upon the sandy beach, and Bob jumped 
out with the painter in his hand to make it fast 


22 


UNGAVA BOB 


Aye, sir,” said Bob, “ he an’ mother says I 
may go.” 

‘‘ Well, come, b’y, an’ we’ll ha’ supper an’ bide 
here th’ night an’ in th’ mornin’ you’ll get your 
fit out,” said Douglas when they had pulled the 
punt up well away from the tide. 

Entering the kitchen they found the others 
still at table. Greetings were exchanged, and a 
place was made for Douglas and Bob. 

It was a good-sized room, furnished in the 
simple, primitive style of the country. An un- 
carpeted floor, benches and chests in lieu of 
chairs, a home-made table, a few shelves for the 
dishes, two or three bunks like ship bunks built 
in the end opposite the door to serve the post 
servant and his family for beds, and a big box 
stove, capable of taking huge billets of wood, 
crackling cheerily, for the nights were already 
frosty. Resting upon crosspieces nailed to the 
rough beams overhead were half a dozen muzzle 
loading guns, and some dog harness hung on 
the wall at one side. Everything was spotlessly 
clean. The floor, the table — innocent of a cloth 
— the shelves, benches and chests were scoured 
to immaculate whiteness with sand and soap, 
and, despite its meagre furnishings the room was 


HOW BOB GOT HIS ‘‘TRAIL 


23 


very snug and cozy and possessed an atmosphere 
of homeliness and comfort. 

A single window admitted the fading evening 
light and a candle was brought, though Douglas 
said to the young girl who placed it in the centre 
of the table : 

“So long as there’s plenty a’ grub, Bessie, I 
thinks we can find a way t’ get he t’ our mouths 
without ere a light.” 

The meal was a simple one — boiled fresh trout 
with pork grease to pour over it for sauce, bread, 
tea, and molasses for “ sweetening.” Butter and 
sugar were luxuries to be used only upon rare 
festal occasions. 

After the men had eaten they sat on the floor 
with their backs against the rough board wall 
and their knees drawn up, and smoked and chat- 
ted about the fishing season just closed and the 
furring season soon to open, while Margaret 
Black, wife of Tom Black, the post servant, their 
daughter Bessie and a couple of young girl 
visitors of Bessie’s from down the bay, ate and 
afterwards cleared the table. Then some one 
proposed a dance, as it was their last gathering be- 
fore going to their winter trails, which would hold 
them prisoners for months to come in the interior 


24 


UNGAVA BOB 


wilderness. A fiddle was brought out, and Dick 
Blake tuned up its squeaky strings, and, keeping 
time with one foot, struck up the Virginia reel. 

The men discarded their jackets, displaying their 
rough flannel shirts and belts, in which were car- 
ried sheath knives, chose their partners and went 
at it with a will, to Dick’s music, while he fiddled 
and shouted such directions as “ Sashay down th’ 
middle, — swing yer pardners, — promenade.” 

Bob led out Bessie, for whom he had always 
shown a decided preference, and danced like any 
man of them. Douglas did not dance — not be- 
cause he was too old, for no man is too old to 
dance in Labrador, nor because it was beneath 
his dignity — but because, as he said : There’s 

not enough maids for all th’ lads, an’ I’s had my 
turn a many a time. I’ll smoke an’ look on.” 

Neither did Micmac John dance, for he seemed 
in ill humour, and was silent and morose, nursing 
his discontent that a mere boy should have been 
given the Big Hill trail in preference to him, and 
he sat moody and silent, taking no apparent 
interest in the fun. The dance was nearly 
finished when Bob, wheeling around the end, 
warm with the excitement and pleasure of it all, 
inadvertently stepped on one of the half-breed’s 


HOW BOB GOT HIS TRAIL 


25 


feet. Micmac John rose like a flash and struck 
Bob a stinging blow on the face. Bob turned 
upon him full of the quick anger of the moment, 
then, remembering his surroundings, restrained 
the hand that was about to return the blow, 
simply saying: 

“ ’Twas an accident, John, an’ you has no 
right to strike me.” 

The half-breed, vicious, sinister and alert, stood 
glowering for a moment, then deliberately hit 
Bob again. The others fell back. Bob faced his 
opponent, and, goaded now beyond the power of 
self-restraint, struck with all the power of his 
young arm at Micmac John. The latter was on 
his guard, however, and warded the blow. 
Quick as a flash he drew his knife, and before the 
others realized what he was about to do, made a 
vicious lunge at Bob’s breast. 


II 


OFF TO THE BUSH 

O N the left breast of Bob’s woollen shirt 
there was a pocket, and in this pocket 
was a small metal box of gun caps, 
which Bob always carried there when he was 
away from home, for he seldom left home with- 
out his gun. It was fortunate for him that it was 
there now, for the point of the knife struck 
squarely over the place where the box lay. It 
was driven with such force by the half-breed’s 
strong arm that it passed clear through the metal, 
which, however, so broke the blow that the steel 
scarcely scratched the skin beneath. Before 
another plunge could be made with the knife the 
men sprang in and seized Micmac John, who sub- 
mitted at once without a struggle to the over- 
powering force, and permitted himself to be dis- 
armed. Then he was released and stood back, 
sullen and defiant. For several moments not a 
word was spoken. 


26 


OFF TO THE BUSH 


27 


Finally Dick Blake took a threatening step 
towards the Indian, and shaking his fist in the 
latteFs face exclaimed : 

“Ye dirty coward 1 Ye’d do murder, would 
ye? Ye’d kill un, would ye? ” 

“ Hold on,” said Douglas, “ ’bide a bit. ’Twill 
do no good t’ beat un, though he’s deservin’ of 
it.” Then to the half-breed : “ An’ what’s ailin’ 

of ye th’ evenin’, John? ’Twas handy t’ doin’ 
murder ye were.” 

John saw the angry look in the men’s eyes, and 
the cool judgment of Douglas standing between 
him and bodily harm, and deciding that tact was 
the better part of valour, changed his attitude of 
defiance to one of reconciliation. He could not 
take revenge now for his fancied wrong. His 
Indian cunning told him to wait for a better time. 
So he extended his hand to Bob, who, dazed by 
the suddenness of the unexpected attack, had not 
moved; “ Shake hands. Bob, an’ call it square. 
I was hot with anger an’ didn’t know what I was 
doin’. We won’t quarrel.” 

Bob, acting upon the motto his mother had 
taught him — “ Be slow to anger and quick to for- 
give,” took the outstretched hand with the re- 
mark, 


28 


UNGAVA BOB 


“ 'Twere a mighty kick I gave ye, John, an* 
enough t’ anger ye, an* no harm’s done.” 

Big Dick Blake would not have it so at first, 
and invited the half-breed outside to take a 
‘‘licking” at his hands. But the others soon 
pacified him, the trouble was forgotten and danc- 
ing resumed as though nothing had happened 
to disturb it. 

As soon as attention was drawn from him Mic- 
mac John, unobserved, slipped out of the door 
and a few moments later placed somethings in a 
canoe that had been turned over on the beach, 
launched it and paddled away in the ghostly 
light of the rising moon. 

The dancing continued until eleven o’clock, 
then the men lit their pipes, and after a short 
smoke and chat rolled into their blankets upon 
the floor, Mrs. Black and the girls retired to the 
bunks, and, save for a long, weird howl that now 
and again came from the wolf dogs outside, and 
the cheery crackling of the stove within, not a 
sound disturbed the silence of the night. 

As has been intimated, Douglas Campbell was 
a man of importance in Eskimo Bay. When a 
young fellow he had come here from the Orkney 
Islands as a servant of the Hudson’s Bay Com- 


OFF TO THE BUSH 


29 


pany. A few years later he married a native girl, 
and then left the company’s service to become a 
hunter. 

He had been careful of his wages, and as 
he blazed new hunting trails into the wilder- 
ness, used his savings to purchase steel traps 
with which to stock the trails. Other trappers, 
too poor to buy traps for themselves, were glad 
to hunt on shares the trails Douglas made, and 
now he was reaping a good income from them. 
He was in fact the richest man in the Bay. 

He was kind, generous and fatherly. The peo- 
ple of the Bay looked up to him and came to him 
when they were in trouble, for his advice and 
help. Many a poor family had Douglas Camp- 
bell’s flour barrel saved from starvation in a bad 
winter, and God knows bad winters come often 
enough on the Labrador. Many an ambitious 
youngster had he started in life, as he was start- 
ing Bob Gray now. 

The Big Hill trail, far up the Grand River, was 
the newest and deepest in the wilderness of all 
the trails Douglas owned — deeper in the wilder- 
ness than that of any other hunter. Just below 
it and adjoining it was William Campbell’s — a 
son of Douglas — a young man of nineteen who 


30 


UNGAVA BOB 


had made his first winter’s hunt the year before 
our story begins ; below that, Dick Blake’s, and 
below Dick’s was Ed Matheson’s. 

In preparing for the winter hunt it was more 
convenient for these men to take their supplies 
to their tilts by boat up the Grand River than to 
haul them in on toboggans on the spring ice, as 
nearly every other hunter, whose trapping ground 
was not upon so good a waterway, was compelled 
to do, and so it was that they were now at the 
trading post selecting their outfits preparatory to 
starting inland before the very cold winter should 
bind the river in its icy shackles. 

The men were up early in the morning, and 
Douglas went with Bob to the office of Mr. 
Charles McDonald, the factor, where it was ar- 
ranged that Bob should be given on credit such 
provisions and goods as he needed for his 
winter’s hunt, to be paid for with fur when he re- 
turned in the spring. Douglas gave his verbal 
promise to assume the debt should Bob’s catch 
of fur be insufficient to enable him to pay it, but 
Bob’s reputation for energy and honesty was so 
good that Mr. McDonald said he had no fear as 
to the payment by the lad himself. 

The provisions that Bob selected in the store. 


OFF TO THE BUSH 


31 


or shop, as they called it, were chiefly flour, a 
small bag of hardtack, fat pork, tea, molasses, 
baking soda and a little coarse salt, while powder, 
shot, bullets, gun caps, matches, a small axe and 
clothing completed the outfit. He already had a 
gray cotton wedge-tent. When these things 
were selected and put aside, Douglas bought a 
pipe and some plugs of black tobacco, and pre- 
sented them to Bob as a gift from himself. 

‘‘But I never smokes, sir, an^ I flows he’d be 
makin’ me sick,” said Bob, as he fingered the 
pipe. 

“Just a wee bit when you tries t’ get ac- 
quainted,” answered Douglas with a chuckle, 
“ just a wee bit ; but yefll come t’ he soon enough 
an’ right good company ye’ll find he of a long 
evenin’. Take un along, an’ there’s no harm 
done if ye don’t smoke un — but ye’ll be makin’ 
good friends wi’ un soon enough.” 

So Bob pocketed the pipe and packed the to- 
bacco carefully away with his purchases. 

After a consultation it was decided that the 
men should all meet the next evening, which 
would be Sunday, at Bob’s home at Wolf Bight, 
near the mouth of the Grand River, and from 
there make an early start on Monday morning 


32 


UNGAVA BOB 


for their trapping grounds. “I’ll have William 
over wi’ one o’ my boats that’s big enough for 
all hands,” said Douglas. “ No use takin’ more’n 
one boat. It’s easier workin’ one than two over 
the portages an’ up the rapids.” 

When Bob’s punt was loaded and he was ready 
to start for home, he ran to the kitchen to say 
good-bye to Mrs. Black and the girls, for he was 
not to see them again for many months. 

“ Bide in th’ tilt when it storms. Bob, an’ have 
a care for the wolves, an’ keep clear o’ th’ Nas- 
caupees,” warned Bessie as she shook Bob’s 
hand. 

“ Aye,” said he. “ I’ll bide in th’ tilt o’ stormy 
days, an’ not go handy t’ th’ Nascaupees. I’m 
not fearful o’ th’ wolves, for they’s always so 
afraid they never gives un a chance for a shot.” 

“ But do have a care. Bob. An’ — an’ — I wants 
to tell you how glad I is o’ your good luck, an’ 
I hopes you’ll make a grand hunt — I knows you 
will. An’ — Bob, we’ll miss you th’ winter.” 

“ Thank you, Bessie. An’ I’ll think o’ th’ fine 
time I’m missin’ at Christmas an’ th’ New Year. 
Good-bye, Bessie.” 

“Good-bye, Bob.” 

The fifteen miles across the Bay to Wolf Bight 


OFF TO THE BUSH 33 

with a fair wind was soon run. Bob ate a late 
dinner, and then made everything snug for the 
journey. His flour was put into small, conve- 
nient sacks, his cooking utensils consisting of a 
frying pan, a tin pail in which to make tea, a tin 
cup and a spoon were placed in a canvas bag by 
themselves, and in another bag was packed a 
Hudson’s Bay Company four-point blanket, two 
suits of underwear, a pair of buckskin mittens 
with a pair of duffel ones inside them, and an 
extra piece of the duffel for an emergency, six 
pairs of knit woollen socks, four pairs of duffel 
socks or slippers (which his mother had made for 
him out of heavy blanket-like woollen cloth), three 
pairs of buckskin moccasins for the winter and 
an extra pair of sealskin boots (long legged mocca- 
sins) for wet weather in the spring. 

He also laid aside, for daily use on the jour- 
ney, an adikey made of heavy white woollen 
cloth, with a fur trimmed hood, and a lighter one, 
to be worn outside of the other, and made of 
gray cotton. The adikey or dikey,” as Bob 
called it, was a seamless garment to be drawn on 
over the head and worn instead of a coat. The 
underclothing and knit socks had been purchased 
at the trading post, but every other article of 


34 


UNGAVA BOB 


clothing, including boots, moccasins and mitts, 
his mother had made. 

A pair of snow-shoes, a file for sharpening axes, 
a “ wedge ” tent of gray cotton cloth and a sheet 
iron tent stove about twelve inches square and 
eighteen inches long with a few lengths of pipe 
placed inside of it were likewise put in readiness. 
The stove and pipe Bob’s father had manufactured. 

No packing was left to be done Sunday, for 
though there was no church to go to, the Grays, 
and for that matter all of the Bay people, were 
close observers of the Sabbath, and left no work 
to be done on that day that could be done at any 
other time. 

Early on Sunday evening, Dick and Ed and 
Bill Campbell came over in their boat from Kene- 
mish, where they had spent the previous night. 
It had been a short day for Bob, the shortest it 
seemed to him he had ever known, for though he 
was anxious to be away and try his mettle with 
the wilderness, these were the last hours for many 
long weary months that he should have at home 
with his father and mother and Emily. How the 
child clung to him ! She kept him by her side 
the livelong day, and held his hand as though 
she were afraid that he would slip away from her. 


OFF TO THE BUSH 


35 


She stroked his cheek and told him how proud 
she was of her big brother, and warned him over 
and over again, 

“ Now, Bob, do be wonderful careful an^ not 
go handy f th* Nascaupees for they be dreadful 
men, fierce an’ murderous.” 

Over and over again they planned the great 
things they would do when he came back with 
a big lot of fur — as they were both quite sure 
he would — and how she would go away to the 
doctor’s to be made well and strong again as 
she used to be and the romps they were to have 
when that happy time came. 

‘‘An’ Bob,” said Emily, “every night before I 
goes to sleep when I says my ‘ Now I lay me 
down to sleep ’ prayer. I’ll say to God ‘ an’ keep 
Bob out o’ danger an’ bring he home safe.’ ” 

“ Aye, Emily,” answered Bob, “ an’ I’ll say to 
God, ‘ Make Emily fine an’ strong again.’ ” 
Before daybreak on Monday morning breakfast 
was eaten, and the boat loaded for a start at 
dawn. Emily was not yet awake when the time 
came to say farewell and Bob kissed her as she 
slept. Poor Mrs. Gray could not restrain the 
tears, and Bob felt a great choking in his throat 
— but he swallowed it bravely. 


36 


UNGAVA BOB 


“ Don’t be feelin’ bad, mother. I’m t’ be rare 
careful in th’ bush, and you’ll see me well and 
hearty wi’ a fine hunt, wi’ th’ open water,” said 
he, as he kissed her. 

“ I knows you’ll be careful, an’ I’ll try not t’ 
worry, but I has a forebodin’ o’ somethin’ t’ hap- 
pen — somethin’ that’s t’ happen t’ you. Bob — oh, 
I feels that somethin’s t’ happen. Emily ’ll be 
missin’ you dreadful. Bob. An’ — ’twill be sore 
lonesome for your father an’ me without our boy.” 

“ Ready, Bob I ” shouted Dick from the boat. 

“ Don’t forget your prayers, lad, an’ remember 
that your mother’s prayin’ for you every mornin* 
an’ every night.” 

“Yes, mother, I’ll remember all you said.” 

She watched him from the door as he walked 
down to the shore with his father, and the boat, 
heavily laden, pushed out into the Bay, and she 
watched still, until it disappeared around the 
point, above. Then she turned back into the 
room and had a good cry before she went about 
her work again. 

If she had known what those distant hills held 
for her boy — if her intuition had been knowledge 
— she would never have let him go. 


Ill 


AN ADVENTURE WITH A BEAR 

T he boat turned out into the broad chan- 
nel and into Goose Bay. There was lit- 
tle or no wind, and when the sun broke 
gloriously over the white-capped peaks of the 
Mealy Mountains it shone upon a sea as smooth 
as a mill pond, with scarcely a ripple to disturb it. 
The men worked laboriously and silently at their 
oars. A harbour seal pushed its head above the 
water, looked at the toiling men curiously for a 
moment, then disappeared below the surface, 
leaving an eddy where it had been. Gulls soared 
overhead, their w^hite wings and bodies looking 
very pure and beautiful in the sunlight. High in 
the air a flock of ducks passed to the southward. 
From somewhere in the distance came the honk 
of a wild goose. The air was laden with the 
scent of the great forest of spruce and balsam fir, 
whose dark green barrier came down from the 
rock-bound, hazy hills in the distance to the 
very water’s edge, where tamarack groves, turned 
37 


38 


UNGAVA BOB 


yellow by the early frosts, reflected the sunlight 
like settings of rich gold. 

'Tis fine ! ’tis grand I ” exclaimed Bob at 
last, as he rested a moment on his oars to drink 
in the scene and breathe deeply the rare, fragrant 
atmosphere. “ ’Tis sure a fine world we’re 
in.” 

“Aye, ’tis fine enough now,” remarked Ed, 
stopping to cut pieces from a plug of tobacco, 
and then cramming them into his pipe. “ But,” 
he continued, prophetically, as he struck a match 
and held it between his hands for the sulphur to 
burn off, “bide a bit, an’ you’ll find it ugly 
enough when th’ snows blow t’ smother ye, an’ 
yer racquets sink with ye t’ yer knees, and th’ 
frost freezes yer face and the ice sticks t’ yer 
very eyelashes until ye can’t see — then,” con- 
tinued he, puffing vigorously at his pipe, “ then 
’tis a sorry world — aye, a sorry an’ a hard world 
for folks t’ make a livin’ in.” 

It was mid-forenoon when they reached Rab- 
bit Island — a small wooded island where the 
passing dog drivers always stop in winter to 
make tea and snatch a mouthful of hard biscuit 
while the dogs have a half hour’s rest. 

“An’ here we’ll boil th’ kettle,” suggested 


AN ADVENTURE WITH A BEAR 39 

Dick. “ rm fair starved with an early break- 
fast and the pull at the oars.^* 

“ We’re ready enough for that,” assented Bill. 
“Th’ wind’s prickin’ up a bit from th’ east’rd, 
an’ when we starts I thinks we may hoist the 
sails.” 

‘‘Yes, th’ wind’s prickin’ up an’ we’ll have a 
fair breeze t’ help us past th’ Traverspine, I 
hopes.” 

The landing was made. Bob and Ed each 
took an axe to cut into suitable lengths some of 
the plentiful dead wood lying right to hand, 
while Dick whittled some shavings and started 
the fire. Bill brought a kettle (a tin pail) of 
water. Then he cut a green sapling about five 
feet in length, sharpened one end of it, and 
stuck it firmly into the earth, slanting the upper 
end into position over the fire. On this he hung 
the kettle of water, so that the blaze shot up 
around it. In a little while the water boiled, 
and with a stick for a lifter he set it on the 
ground and threw in a handful of tea. This 
they sweetened with molasses and drank out of 
tin cups while they munched hardtack. 

Bill’s prophecy as to the wind proved a true 
one, and in the half hour while they were at their 


40 


UNGAVA BOB 


luncheon so good a breeze had sprung up that 
when they left Rabbit Island both sails were 
hoisted. 

Early in the afternoon they passed the Traver- 
spine River, and now with some current to op- 
pose made slower, though with the fair wind, 
good progress, and when the sun dipped behind 
the western hills and they halted to make their 
night camp they were ten miles above the 
Traverspine. 

To men accustomed to travelling in the bush, 
camp is quickly made. The country here was 
well wooded, and the forest beneath covered 
with a thick carpet of white moss. Bob and Bill 
selected two trees between which they stretched 
the ridge pole of a tent, and a few moments 
sufficed to cut pegs and pin down the canvas. 
Then spruce boughs were broken and spread 
over the damp moss and their shelter was ready 
for occupancy. Meanwhile Ed had cut fire- 
wood while Dick started the fire, using for 
kindlings a handful of dry, dead sprigs from 
the branches of a spruce tree, and by the time 
Bob and Bill had the tent pitched it was blazing 
cheerily, and the appetizing smell of fried pork 
and hot tea was in the air. When supper was 


AN ADVENTURE WITH A BEAR 41 

cooked Ed threw on some more sticks, for the 
evening was frosty, and then they sat down to 
luxuriate in its genial warmth and eat their 
simple meal. 

For an hour they chatted, while the fire 
burned low, casting a narrowing circle of light 
upon the black wilderness surrounding the little 
camp. Some wild thing of the forest stole noise- 
lessly to the edge of the outer darkness, its eyes 
shining like two balls of fire, then it quietly 
slunk away unobserved. Above the fir tops the 
blue dome of heaven seemed very near and the 
million stars that glittered there almost close 
enough to pluck from their azure setting. With 
a weird, uncanny light the aurora flashed its 
changing colours restlessly across the sky. No 
sound save the low voices of the men as they 
talked, disturbed the great silence of the wilder- 
ness. 

Many a time had Bob camped and hunted 
with his father near the coast, in the forest to the 
south of Wolf Bight, but he had never been far 
from home and with this his first long journey 
into the interior, a new world and new life were 
opening to him. The solitude had never im- 
pressed him before as it did now. The smoke 


42 


UNGAVA BOB 


of the camp-fire and the perfume of the forest 
had never smelled so sweet. The romance of 
the trail was working its way into his soul, and 
to him the land seemed filled with wonderful 
things that he was to search out and uncover for 
himself. The harrowing tales that the men were 
telling of winter storms and narrow escapes from 
wild animals had no terror for him. He only 
looked forward to meeting and conquering these 
obstacles for himself. Young blood loves ad- 
venture, and Bob’s blood was strong and red 
and active. 

When the fire died away and only a heap of 
glowing red coals remained, Dick knocked the 
ashes from his pipe, and rising with a yawn, 
suggested : 

‘T ’lows it’s time t’ turn in. We’ll have t’ be 
movin’ early in th’ mornin’ an’ we makes th’ 
Muskrat Portage.” 

Then they went to the tent and rolled into 
their blankets and were soon sleeping as only 
men can sleep who breathe the pure, free air of 
God’s great out-of-doors. 

Before noon the next day they reached the 
Muskrat Falls, where the torrent, with a great 
roar, pours down seventy feet over the solid 


AN ADVENTURE WITH A BEAR 43 

rocks. An Indian portage trail leads around the 
falls and meets the river again half a mile farther 
up. At its beginning it ascends a steep incline 
two hundred feet, then it runs away, compara- 
tively level, to its upper end where it drops ab- 
ruptly to the water’s edge. To pull a heavy 
boat up this incline and over the half mile to the 
launching place above, was no small undertaking. 

Everything was unloaded, the craft brought 
ashore, and ropes which were carried for the 
purpose attached to the bow. Then round sticks 
of wood, for rollers, were placed under it, and 
while Dick and Ed hauled. Bob and Bill pushed 
and lifted and kept the rollers straight. In this 
manner, with infinite labour, it was worked to 
the top of the hill and step by step hauled over 
the portage to the place where it was to enter the 
water again. It was nearly sunset when they 
completed their task and turned back to bring up 
their things from below. 

They had retraced their steps but a few yards 
when Dick, who was ahead, darted off to the left 
of the trail with the exclamation : 

“ An’ here’s some fresh meat for supper.” 

It was a porcupine lumbering awkwardly 
away. He easily killed it with a stick, and pick- 


44 


UNGAVA BOB 


ing it up by its tail, was about to turn back into 
the trail when a fresh axe cutting caught his eye. 

“ Now who’s been here, lads?” said he, look- 
ing at it closely. “ None o’ th’ planters has been 
inside of th’ Traverspine, an’ no Mountaineers 
has left th’ post yet.” 

The others joined him and scrutinized the cut- 
ting, then looked for other human signs. Near 
by they found the charred wood of a recent fire 
and some spruce boughs that had served for a 
bed within a day or two, which was proved by 
their freshly broken ends. It had been the 
couch of a single man. 

“ Micmac John, sure ! ” said Ed. 

“ An’ what’s he doin’ here ? ” asked Bill. “ He 
has no traps or huntin’ grounds handy t’ this.” 

‘T’m thinkin’ ’tis no good he’s after,” said 
Dick. ’Tis sure he, an’ he’ll be givin’ us 
trouble, stealin’ our fur an’ maybe worse. But 
if / gets hold o’ he, he’ll be sorry for his meddlin’, 
if meddlin’ he’s after, an’ it’s sure all he’s here 
for.” 

They hurried back to pitch camp, and when 
the fire was made the porcupine was thrown 
upon the blaze, and allowed to remain there un- 
til its quills and hair were scorched to a cinder. 


AN ADVENTURE WITH A BEAR 45 

Then Dick, who superintended the cooking, 
pulled it out, scraped it and dressed it. On 
either side of the fire he drove a stake and across 
the tops of these stakes tied a cross pole. From 
the centre of this pole the porcupine was sus- 
pended by a string, so that it hung low and near 
enough to the fire to roast nicely, while it was 
twirled around on the string. It was soon send- 
ing out a delicious odour, and in an hour was 
quite done, and ready to be served. A dainty 
morsel it was to the hungry voyageurs, resemb- 
ling in some respects roast pig, and every scrap 
of it they devoured. 

The next morning all the goods were carried 
over the portage, and a wearisome fight began 
against the current of the river, which was so 
swift above this point as to preclude sailing or 
even rowing. A rope was tied to the bow of the 
boat and on this three of the men hauled, while 
the other stood in the craft and with a pole kept 
it clear of rocks and other obstructions. For 
several days this method of travel continued — 
tracking it is called. Sometimes the men were 
forced along the sides of almost perpendicular 
banks, often they waded in the water and fre- 
quently met obstacles like projecting cliffs. 


46 


UNGAVA BOB 


around which they passed with the greatest diffi- 
culty* 

At the Porcupine Rapids everything was 
lashed securely into the boat, as a precaution in 
case of accident, but they overcame the rapid 
without mishap, and finally they reached Gull 
Island Lake, a broadening of the river in safety, 
and were able to resume their oars again. It 
was a great relief after the long siege of tracking, 
and Ed voiced the feelings of all in the remark : 

“Pullin' at th' oars is hard when ye has 
nothin’ harder t’ do, but trackin’ s so much 
harder, pullin’ seems easy alongside un.” 

“ Aye.” said Dick, “ th’ thing a man’s doin’s 
always the hardest work un ever done. ’Tis be- 
cause ye forgets how hard th’ things is that ye’ve 
done afore.” 

“ An’ it’s just the same in winter. When a 
frosty spell comes folks thinks ’tis th’ frostiest 
time they ever knew. If 'twerCy th’ winters, I 
’ lows’ d be gettin’ so cold folks couldn’t stand un. 
I recollects one frosty spell ” 

“Now none o’ yer yarns, Ed. Th’ Lord’ll be 
strikin’ ye dead in His anger some day when 
ye’re tellin’ what ain’t so.” 

“ I tells no yarns as ain’t so, an’ I can prove 


AN ADVENTURE WITH A BEAR 47 

un all — leastways I could a proved this un, only 
it so happens as I were alone. As I was sayin^ 
Twere so cold one night last winter that when I 
was boilin’ o’ my kettle an’ left th’ door o’ th’ 
tilt open for a bit while I steps outside, th’ wind 
blowin’ in on th’ kettle all th’ time hits th’ steam 
at th’ spout — an’ what does ye think I sees when 
I comes in ? ” 

“Ye sees steam, o’ course, an’ what else could 
ye see, now ? ” 

“ ’Twere so cold — that wind — blowin’ right on 
th’ spout where th’ steam comes out, when I 
comes in I looks an’ I can’t brieve what I sees 
myself. Well, now, I sees th’ steam froze solid, 
an’ a string o’ ice hangin’ from th’ spout right 
down t’ th’ floor o’ th’ tilt, an’ th’ kettle boilin’ 
merry all th’ time. That’s what I sees, an’ ” 

“Now stop yer lyin’, Ed. Ye knows no 
un ” 

“A bear! A bear!” interrupted Bob, excit- 
edly. “ See un ! See un there cornin’ straight 
to that rock ! ” 

Sure enough, a couple of hundred yards away 
a big black bear was lumbering right down 
towards them, and if it kept its course would 
pass a large boulder standing some fifty yards 


48 UNGAVA BOB 

back from the river bank. The animal had not 
seen the boat nor scented the men, for the wind 
was blowing from it towards them. 

“ Run her in here,” said Bob, indicating a bit 
of bank out of the bear’s range of vision, “ an’ 
let me ashore t’ have a chance at un.” 

The instant the boat touched, land he grabbed 
his gun — a single-barrelled, muzzle loader — 
bounded noiselessly ashore, and stooping low 
gained the shelter of the boulder unobserved. 

The unsuspecting bear came leisurely on, bent, 
no doubt, upon securing a drink of water to wash 
down a feast of blueberries of which it had just 
partaken, and seemingly occupied by the pleas- 
ant reveries that follow a good meal and go with 
a full stomach. Bob could hear it coming now, 
and raised his gun ready to give it the load the 
moment it passed the rock. Then, suddenly, he 
remembered that he had loaded the gun that 
morning with shot, when hunting a flock of par- 
tridges, and had failed to reload with ball. To 
kill a bear with a partridge load of shot was out 
of the question, and to wound the bear at close 
quarters was dangerous, for a wounded bear 
with its enemy within reach is pretty sure to re- 
taliate. 


AN ADVENTURE WITH A BEAR 49 


Just at the instant this thought flashed through 
Bob^s mind the big black side of the bear ap- 
peared not ten feet from the muzzle of his gun, 
and before the lad realized it he had pulled the 
trigger. 

Bob did not stop to see the result of the shot, 
but ran at full speed towards the boat. The bear 
gave an angry growl, and for a moment bit at 
the wound in its side, then in a rage took after 
him. 

It was not over fifty yards to the boat, and 
though Bob had a few seconds the start, the bear 
seemed likely to catch him before he could reach 
it, for clumsy though they are in appearance, 
they are fast travellers when occasion demands. 
Half the distance was covered in a jiffy, but the 
bear was almost at his heels. A few more leaps 
and he would be within reach of safety. He 
could fairly feel the beards breath. Then his foot 
caught a projecting branch and he fell at full 
length directly in front of the infuriated animal. 


IV 

SWEPT AWAY IN THE RAPIDS 


W HEN Bob went ashore Dick followed 
as far as a clump of bushes at the top 
of the bank below which the boat 
was concealed, and crouching there witnessed 
Bob’s flight from the bear, and was very close to 
him when he fell. Dick had already drawn a bead 
on the animal’s head, and just at the moment 
Bob stumbled fired. The bear made one blind 
strike with his paw and then fell forward, its 
momentum sending it upon Bob’s sprawling legs. 
Dick laughed uproariously at the boy as he ex- 
tricated himself. 

“Well, now,” he roared, “’twere as fine a 
race as I ever see — as I ever see — an’ ye were 
handy t’ winnin’ but for th’ tumble. A rare fine 
race.” 

Bob was rather shamefaced, for an old hunter 
would scarcely have forgotten himself to such an 
extent as to go bear hunting with a partridge 
load in his gun, and he did not like to be 
laughed at. 

50 


SWEPT AWAY IN THE RAPIDS 51 

Anyhow,” said he, “ I let un have un first. 
An’ I led un down where you could shoot un. 
An’ he’s a good fat un,” he commented kicking 
the carcass. 

Ed and Bill had arrived now and all hands 
went to work at once skinning the bear. 

‘‘ Speakin’ o’ bein’ chased by bears,” remarked 
Ed as they worked, ” onct I were chased pretty 
hard myself an’ that time I come handy t’ bein’ 
done for sure enough.” 

‘‘ An’ how were that ? ” asked Bob. 

** ’Twere one winter an’ I were tendin’ my trail. 
I stops at noon t’ boil th’ kettle, an’ just has th’ 
fire goin’ fine an’ th’ water over when all t’ a 
sudden I hears a noise behind me and turnin’ 
sees a black bear right handy t’ me — th’ biggest 
black bear I ever seen — an’ makin’ fer me. I 
jumps up an’ grabs my gun an’ lets un have it, 
but wi’ th’ suddenness on it I misses, an’ away I 
starts an’ ’twere lucky I has my racquets on.” 

‘‘Were this in winter asked Dick. 

“ It were in winter.” 

“Th’ bears as / knows don’t travel in winter. 
They sleeps then, leastways all but white bears.” 

“Well, this were in winter an’ this bear weren’t 
sleepin’ much. As I was sayin’ ” 


52 


UNGAVA BOB 


An’ he took after ye without bein’ pro- 
voked ? ” 

** An’ he did an’ right smart.” 

** Well he were a queer bear — a queer un — th’ 
queerest I ever hear tell about. Awake in winter 
an’ takin’ after folks without bein’ ’Tis 
th’ first black bear / ever heard tell about that 
done that. I knows bears pretty well an’ they 
alus takes tother way about as fast as their legs 
’ll carry un.” 

‘‘ Now, if you wants me t’ tell about this bear 
ye’ll ha’ t’ stop interruptin’.” 

“ No one said as they wanted ye to.” 

** Now I’m goin’ t’ tell un whatever. 

** As I were sayin’, th’ bear he takes after me 
wi’ his best licks an’ I takes off an’ tries t’ load 
my gun as I runs. I drops in a han’ful o’ pow- 
der an’ then finds I gone an’ left my ball pouch 
at th’ fire. It were pretty hard runnin’ wi’ my 
racquets sinkin’ in th’ snow, which were new an’ 
soft an’ I were losin’ ground an’ gettin’ winded 
an’ ’twere lookin’ like un’s goin’ t’ cotch me sure. 
All t’ onct I see a place where the snow’s drifted 
up three fathoms deep agin a ledge an’ even wi’ 
th’ top of un. I makes for un an’ runs right over 
th’ upper side an’ th’ bear he comes too, but he 


SWEPT AWAY IN THE RAPIDS 53 

has no racquets and th’ snow’s soft, bein’ fresh 
drift an’ down he goes sinkin’ most out o’ sight 
an’ th’ more un wallers th’ worse off un is.” 

** An’ what does you do ? ” asks Bob. 

‘‘ What does I do ? I stops an’ laughs at un a 
bit. Then I lashes my sheath knife on th’ end o’ 
a pole spear-like, an’ sticks th’ bear back o’ th’ 
fore leg an’ kills un, an’ then I has bear’s meat 
wi’ my tea, an’ in th’ spring gets four dollars from 
th’ company for the skin.” 

In twenty minutes they had the pelt removed 
from the bear and Dick generously insisted upon 
Bob taking it as the first-fruits of his inland hunt, 
saying : Ye earned he wi’ yer runnin’.” 

The best of the meat was cut from the carcass, 
and that night thick, luscious steaks were broiled 
for supper, and the remainder packed for future 
use on the journey. 

Fine weather had attended the voyageurs thus 
far but that night the sky clouded heavily and 
when they emerged from the tent the next morn- 
ing a thick blanket of snow covered the earth and 
weighted down the branches of the spruce trees. 
The storm had spent itself in the night, however, 
and the day was clear and sparkling. Very 
beautiful the white world looked when the sur 


54 


UNGAVA BOB 


came to light it up ; but the snow made tracking 
less easy, and warned the travellers that no time 
must be lost in reaching their destination, for it 
was a harbinger of the winter blasts and blizzards 
soon to blow. 

Early that afternoon they came in view of the 
rushing waters of the Gull Island Rapids, with 
their big foam crested waves angrily assailing 
the rocks that here and there raised their ominous 
heads above the torrent. The greater length 
of these rapids can be tracked, with some short 
portages around the worst places. Before enter- 
ing them everything was lashed securely into 
the boat, as at the Porcupine Rapids, and the 
tracking line fastened a few inches back of the 
bow leaving enough loose end to run to the 
stern and this was tied securely there to relieve 
the unusual strain on the bow fastening. Ed 
took the position of steersman in the boat, while 
the other three were to haul upon the line. 

When all was made ready and secure, they 
started forward, bringing the craft into the heavy 
water, which opposed its progress so vigorously 
that it seemed as though the rope must surely 
snap. Stronger and stronger became the strain 
and harder and harder pulled the men. All of 


SWEPT AWAY IN THE RAPIDS 55 

Ed’s skill was required to keep the boat straight 
in the treacherous cross current eddies where the 
water swept down past the half-hidden rocks in 
the river bed. 

They were pushing on tediously but surely 
when suddenly and without warning the fasten- 
ing at the bow broke loose, the boat swung 
away into the foam, and in a moment was 
swallowed up beneath the waves. The rear 
fastening held however and the boat was thrown 
in against the bank. 

But Ed had disappeared in the fearful flood of 
rushing white water. The other three stood 
appalled. It seemed to them that no power on 
earth could save him. He must certainly be 
dashed to death upon the rocks or smothered 
beneath the onrushing foam. 

For a moment all were inert, paralyzed. 
Then Dick, accustomed to act quickly in every 
emergency, slung the line around a boulder, 
took a half hitch to secure it and, without stop- 
ping to see whether it would hold or not, ran 
down stream at top speed with Bob and Bill at 
his heels. 


V 

THE TRAILS ARE REACHED 

E d had been cast away in rapids before, 
and when he found himself in the water, 
with the wilderness traveller’s quick ap- 
preciation of the conditions, he lay limp, without 
a struggle. If he permitted the current to carry 
him in its own way on its course, he might be 
swept past the rocks uninjured to the still water 
below. If one struggle was made it might throw 
him out of the current’s course against a boulder, 
where he would be pounded to death or rendered 
unconscious and surely drowned. He was swept 
on much more rapidly than his companions 
could run and quite hidden from them by the 
big foam-crested waves. 

It seemed ages to the helpless man before 
he felt his speed slacken and finally found 
himself in the eddy where they had begun to 
track. Here he struck out for the river bank 
only a few yards distant, and, half drowned, 
succeeded in pulling himself ashore. A few 
minutes later, when the others came running 
S6 


THE TRAILS ARE REACHED 57 


down, they found him, to their great relief, sitting 
on the bank quite safe, wringing the water from 
his clothing, and their fear that he was injured 
was quickly dispelled by his looking up as they 
approached and remarking, as though nothing 
unusual had occurred, 

“ Bathings chilly this time 0* year. Let’s put 
on a fire an’ boil th’ kettle.” 

I don’t know as we got a kettle or anythin’ 
else,” said Dick, laughing at Ed’s bedraggled 
appearance and matter-of-fact manner. “We 
better go back an’ see. I hitched th’ trackin’ 
line to a rock, but I don’t know’s she’s held.” 

“ Well, let’s look. I’m a bit damp, an’ thinkin’ 
I wants a fire, whatever.” 

A cold northwest wind had sprung up in the 
afternoon and the snow was drifting unpleasantly 
and before the boat was reached Ed’s wet gar- 
ments were frozen stiff as a coat of mail and he 
was so chilled through that he could scarcely 
walk. The line had held and they found the 
boat in an eddy below a high big boulder. It 
was submerged, but quite safe, with everything, 
thanks to the careful lashings, in its place, save 
a shoulder of bear’s meat that had loosened and 
washed away. 


58 


UNGAVA BOB 


“ I thinks, lads, we’ll be makin’ camp here. 
Whilst I puts a fire on an’ boils th' kettle t’ warm 
Ed up, you pitch camp. ’Twill be nigh sun- 
down afore Ed gets dried out, an’ too late t’ go 
any farther,” suggested Dick. 

In a few minutes the fire was roaring and Ed 
thawing out and drinking hot tea as he basked 
in the blaze, while Dick chopped fire-wood and 
Bob and Bill unloaded the boat and put up the 
tent and made it snug for the night. 

Heretofore they had found the outside camp-fire 
quite sufficient for their needs, and had not gone 
to the trouble of setting up the stove, but it was 
yet some time before dark, and as the wet clothing 
and outfit could be much more easily and quickly 
dried under the shelter of the heated tent than 
in the drifting snow by the open fire, it was de- 
cided to put the stove in use on this occasion. 
Bob selected a flat stone upon which to rest it, 
for without this protection the moss beneath, 
coming into contact with the hot metal, would 
have dried quickly and taken fire. 

When everything was brought in and dis- 
tributed in the best place to dry. Bob took some 
birch bark, thrust it into the stove and lighted it. 
Instantly it flared up as though it had been oil 


THE TRAILS ARE REACHED 59 

soaked. This made excellent kindling for the 
wood that was piled on top, and in an incredibly 
short time the tent was warm and snug as any 
house. Ed left the open fire and joined Bob 
and Bill, and in a few minutes Dick came in 
with an armful of wood. 

‘‘Well, un had a good wettin’ an’ a cold 
souse,” said he, as he piled the wood neatly 
behind the stove, addressing himself to Ed, who, 
now quite recovered from his chill, stood with 
his back to the stove, puffing contentedly at his 
pipe, with the steam pouring out of his wet clothes. 

“ ’Twere just a fine time wi’ th’ dip I had ten 
year ago th’ winter cornin’,” said Ed, rumi- 
natively. “ ’Twere nothirH to that un.” 

“ An’ where were that ? ” asked Dick. 

“ I were out o’ tea in March, an’ handy to 
havin’ no tobaccy, an’ I says t’ myself, ‘ Ed, ye 
can’t stay in th’ bush till th’ break up wi’ nary a 
bit o’ tea, and ye’d die wi’out tobaccy. Now ye 
got t’ make th’ cruise t’ th’ Post.’ Well, I fixes 
up my traps, an’ packs grub for a week on my 
flat sled (toboggan) an’ off I goes. ’Twere fair 
goin’ wi’ good hard footin’ an’ I makes fine time. 
Below th’ Gull Rapids, just above where I come 
ashore th’ day, I takes t’ th’ ice thinkin’ un 


6o 


UNGAVA BOB 


good, an’ ’twere lucky I has my racquets lashed 
on th* flat sled an’ not walkin’ wi’ un, for I never 
could a swum wi’ un on. Two fathoms from th’ 
shore I steps on bad ice an’ in I goes, head an’ 
all, an’ th’ current snatches me ofl’n my feet an’ 
carries me under th’ ice, an’ afore I knows un I 
finds th’ water carryin’ me along as fast as a deer 
when he gets th’ wind.” 

“ An’ how did un get out ? ” asked Bob in 
open-mouthed wonder. 

“’Twere sure a hard fix under th’ ice,” re- 
marked Bill, equally interested. 

“ A wonderful hard fix, a wonderful hard fix, 
under th’ ice, an’ I were handy t’ stayin’ under 
un,” said Ed, taking evident delight in keeping 
his auditors in suspense. “ Aye, a wonderful 
hard fix,” continued he, while he hacked pieces 
from his tobacco plug and filled his pipe. 

“An’ where were I?” asked Dick, making a 
quick calculation of past events. “ I were huntin’ 
wi’ un ten year ago, an’ I don’t mind ye’re 
gettin’ in th’ ice.” 

“’Twere th’ winter un were laid up wi’ th’ 
lame leg, an’ poor Frank Morgan were huntin’ 
along wi’ me. Frank were lost th’ same spring 
in th’ Bay. Does un mind that ? ” 


THE TRAILS ARE REACHED 6i 


“ ^Twere only nine year ago I were laid up 
an' Frank were huntin’ my trail,” said Dick. 

” Well, maybe ’twere only nine year ; ’twere 
nine or ten year ago,” Ed continued, with some 
show of impatience at Dick’s questioning. 
‘‘ Leastways ’twere thereabouts. Well, I finds 
myself away off from th’ hole I’d dropped into, 
an’ no way o’ findin’ he. The river were low 
an’ had settled a foot below th’ ice, which were 
four or five feet thick over my head, an’ no way 
o’ cuttin’ out. So what does I do ? ” 

“ An’ what does un do ? ” asked Dick. 

“What does I do? I keeps shallow water 
near th’ shore an’ holdin’ my head betwixt ice 
an’ water makes down t’ th’ Porcupine Rapids. 
’Twere a long an’ wearisome pull, an’ thinks I, 
‘ ’Tis too much — un’s done for now.’ After a 
time I sees light an’ I goes for un. ’Twere a 
place near a rock where th’ water swingin’ around 
had kept th’ ice thin. I gets t’ un an’ makes a 
footin’ on th’ rock. I gets out my knife an’ 
finds th’ ice breaks easy, an’ cuts a hole an’ crawls 
out. By th’ time I gets on th’ ice I were pretty 
handy t’ givin’ up wi’ th’ cold.” 

“’Twere a close call,” assented Dick, as he 
puffed at his pipe meditatively. 


62 


UNGAVA BOB 


“ How far did un go under th' ice ? ” asked 
Bill, who had been much interested in the nar- 
rative. 

“ Handy t’ two mile.’^ 

For several days after this the men worked 
very hard from early dawn until the evening 
darkness drove them into camp. The current 
was swift and the rapids great surging torrents 
of angry water that seemed bent upon driving 
them back. One after another the Horseshoe, 
the Ninipi, and finally, after much toil, the Mouni 
Rapids were met and conquered. 

The weather was stormy and disagreeable. 
Nearly every day the air was filled with driving 
snow or beating cold rain that kept them wet to 
the skin and would have sapped the courage 
and broken the spirit of less determined men. 
But they did not mind it. It was the sort of 
thing they had been accustomed to all their life. 

With each morning. Bob, full of the wilder- 
ness spirit, took up the work with as much enthu- 
siasm as on the day he left Wolf Bight. At nighty 
when he was very tired and just a bit homesick, 
he would try to picture to himself the little cabin 
that now seemed far, far away, and he would say 
to himself. 


THE TRAILS ARE REACHED 63 


“ If I could spend th’ night there now, an’ 
be back here in th’ mornin’, ’twould be fine. 
But when I does go back, the goin’ home’ll be 
fine, an’ pay for all th’ bein’ away. An’ the Lard 
lets me. I’ll have th’ fur t’ send Emily t’ th’ doc- 
tors an’ make she well.” 

One day the clouds grew tired of sending 
forth snow and rain, and the wind forgot to 
blow, and the waters became weary of their 
rushing. The morning broke clear and beauti- 
ful, and the sun, in a blaze of red and orange 
grandeur, displayed the world in all its rugged 
primeval beauty. The travellers had reached 
Lake Wonakapow, a widening of the river, 
where the waters were smooth and no current 
opposed their progress. For the first time in 
many days the sails were hoisted, and, released 
from the hard work, the men sat back to enjoy 
the rest, while a fair breeze sent them up the 
lake. 

‘‘ ’Tis fine t’ have a spell from th’ trackin’,” re- 
marked Ed as he lighted his pipe. 

Aye, ’tis that,” assented Dick, “ an’ we been 
makin’ rare good time wi’ this bad weather. 
We’re three days ahead o’ my reckonin’.” 

How beautiful it was ! The water, deep and 


64 


UNGAVA BOB 


dark, leading far away, every rugged hill capped 
with snow, and the white peaks sparkling in the 
sunshine. A loon laughed at them as they 
passed, and an invisible wolf on a mountain- 
side sent forth its long weird cry of defiance. 

They sailed quietly on for an hour or two. 
Finally Ed pointed out to Bob a small log shack 
standing a few yards back from the shore, say- 
ing: 

“ An^ there^s my tilt. Here I leaves un.” 

Bill Campbell was at the tiller, and the boat 
was headed to a strip of sandy beach near the 
tilt. Presently they landed. Ed’s things were 
separated from the others and taken ashore, and 
all hands helped him carry them up to the tilt. 

There was no window in the shack and the 
doorway was not over four feet high. Within 
was a single room about six by eight feet in size, 
with a rude couch built of saplings, running along 
two sides, upon which spruce boughs, used the 
previous year and now dry and dead, were 
strewn for a bed. The floor was of earth. The 
tilt contained a sheet iron stove similar to the 
one Bob had brought, but no other furniture save 
a few cooking utensils. The round logs of 
which the rough building was constructed, were 








THE TRAILS ARE REACHED 65 

well chinked between them with moss, making it 
snug and warm. 

This was where Ed kept his base of supplies. 
His trail began here and ran inland and nearly 
northward for some distance to a lake whose 
shores it skirted, and then, taking a swing to the 
southwest, came back to the river again and 
ended where Dick^s began, and the two trappers 
had a tilt there which they used in common. 
Between these tilts were four others at intervals 
of twelve to fifteen miles, for night shelters, the 
distance between them constituting a day’s work, 
the trail from end to end being about seventy 
miles long. 

The trails which the other three were to hunt 
led off, one from the other — Dick’s, Bill’s and then 
the Big Hill trail, with tilts at the juncture points 
and along them in a similar manner to the 
arrangement of Ed’s, and each trail covering 
about the same number of miles as his. Each 
man could therefore walk the length of his trail 
in five days, if the weather were good, and, 
starting from one end on Monday morning have 
a tilt to sleep in each night and reach his last tilt 
on the other end Friday night. This gave him 
Saturday in which to do odd jobs like mending. 


66 


UNGAVA BOB 


and Sunday for rest, before taking up the round 
again on Monday. 

It was yet too early by three weeks to begin 
the actual trapping, but much in the way of 
preparation had to be done in the meantime. 
This was Tuesday, and it was agreed that two 
weeks from the following Saturday Ed and Dick 
should be at the tilt where their trails met and 
Bill and Bob at the junction of their trails, ready 
to start their work on the next Monday. This 
would bring Dick and Bill together on the fol- 
lowing Friday night and Bob and Ed would 
each be alone, one at either end of the series of 
trails and more than a hundred miles from his 
nearest neighbour. 

“ I hopes your first cruise’ll be a good un, an^ 
you’ll be doin’ fine th’ winter. Bob. Have a care 
now for th’ Nascaupees,” said Ed as they shook 
hands at parting. 

Thanks,” answered Bob, ‘‘an’ I hopes you’ll 
be havin’ a fine hunt too.” 

Then they were off, and Ed’s long winter’s 
work began. 

The next afternoon Dick’s first tilt was 
reached, and a part of his provisions and some 
of Ed’s that they had brought on for him, were 


THE TRAILS ARE REACHED 67 


unloaded there. Dick, however, decided to go 
with the young men to the tilt at the beginning 
of the Big Hill trail, to help them haul the boat 
up and make it snug for the winter, saying, “ Fm 
thinkin’ you might find her too heavy, an’ I’ll 
go on an' give a hand, an’ cut across to my trail, 
which I can do handy enough in a day, havin’ 
no pack.” 

An hour before dark on Friday evening they 
reached the tilt. Dick was the first to enter it, 
and as he pushed open the door he stopped 
with the exclamation : 

“ That rascal Micmac I ” 


VI 

ALONE IN THE WILDERNESS 


HE stove and stovepipe were gone, and 



fresh, warm ashes on the floor gave 


conclusive proof that the theft had been 


perpetrated that very day. Some one had been 
occupying the tilt, too, as new boughs spread for 
a bed made evident. 

“ More o’ Micmac John’s work,” commented 
Dick as he kicked the ashes. “ He’s been takin’ 
th’ stove an’ he’ll be takin’ th’ fur too, an’ he gets 
a chance.” 

“ Maybe ’twere Mountaineers,” suggested Bill. 

“No, ’twere no Mountaineers — them don’t 
steal. No un ever heard o’ a Mountaineer 
takin’ things as belongs to other folks. Injuns 
be honest — leastways all but half-breeds.” 

“ Nascaupees might a been here,” offered Bob, 
having in mind the stories he had heard of them, 
and feeling now that he was almost amongst 
them. 

“No, Nascaupees ’d have no use for a stove. 
They’d ha’ burned th’ tilt. ’Tis Micmac John, 


68 


ALONE IN THE WILDERNESS 69 

an^ he be here steal fur, ’Tis f steal fur’s 
what he be after. But let me ketch un, an’ 
he won’t steal much more fur,” insisted Dick, 
worked up to a very wrathful pitch. 

They looked outside for indications of the course 
the marauder had taken, and discovered that he 
had returned to the river, where his canoe had 
been launched a little way above the tilt, and had 
either crossed to the opposite side or gone 
higher up stream. In either case it was useless 
to attempt to follow him, as, if they caught him 
at all, it would be after a chase of several days, 
and they could not well afford the time. There 
was nothing to do, therefore, but make the best 
of it. Bob’s tent stove was set up in place of the 
one that had been stolen. Then everything was 
stowed away in the tilt. 

The next morning came cold and gray, with 
heavy, low-hanging clouds, threatening an early 
storm. The boat was hauled well up on the 
shore, and a log protection built over it to 
prevent the heavy snows that were soon to come 
from breaking it down. 

Before noon the first flakes of the promised 
storm fell lazily to the earth and in half an hour 
it was coming so thickly that the river twenty 


70 


UNGAVA BOB 


yards away could not be seen, and the wind was 
rising. The three cut a supply of dry wood and 
piled what they could in the tilt, placing the rest 
within reach of the door. Then armfuls of boughs 
were broken for their bed. All the time the storm 
was increasing in power and by nightfall a gale 
was blowing and a veritable blizzard raging. 

When all was made secure, a good fire was 
started in the stove, a candle lighted, and some 
partridges that had been killed in the morning 
put over with a bit of pork to boil for supper. 
While these were cooking Bill mixed some flour 
with water, using baking soda for leaven — 
‘‘ risin’ he called it — into a dough which he 
formed into cakes as large in circumference as 
the pan would accommodate and a quarter of an 
inch thick. These cakes he fried in pork grease. 
This was the sort of bread that they were to eat 
through the winter. 

The meal was a cozy one. Outside the wind 
shrieked angrily and swirled the snow in smother- 
ing clouds around the tilt, and rattled the stove- 
pipe, threatening to shake it down. It was very 
pleasant to be out of it all in the snug, warm 
shack with the stove crackling contentedly and 
the place filled with the mingled odours of the 


ALONE IN THE WILDERNESS 71 


steaming kettle of partridges and tea and spruce 
boughs. To the hunters it seemed luxurious 
after their tedious fight against the swift river. 
Times like this bring ample recompense to the 
wilderness traveller for the most strenuous hard- 
ships that he is called upon to endure. The mem- 
ory of one such night will make men forget a 
month of suffering. Herein lies one of the secret 
charms of the wilds. 

When supper was finished Dick and Bill filled 
their pipes, and with coals from the stove lighted 
them. Then they lounged back and puffed with an 
air of such perfect, speechless bliss that for the 
first time in his life Bob felt a desire to smoke. He 
drew from his pocket the pipe Douglas had given 
him and filled it from a plug of the tobacco. 
When he reached for a firebrand to light it Dick 
noticed what he was doing and asked good na- 
turedly, — 

“Think t* smoke with us, eh?^^ 

“ Yes, thinks Fll try un.^^ 

“ An^ be gettin’ sick before un knows it,” vol- 
unteered Bill. 

Disregarding the suggestion Bob fired his pipe 
and lay back with the air of an old veteran. He 
soon found that he did not like it very much, and 


72 


UNGAVA BOB 


in a little while he felt a queer sensation in his 
stomach, but it was not in Bob’s nature to ac- 
knowledge himself beaten so easily, and he 
puffed on doggedly. Pretty soon beads of perspi- 
ration stood out upon his forehead and he grew 
white. Then he quietly laid aside the pipe and 
groped his way unsteadily out of doors, for he 
was very dizzy and faint. When he finally re- 
turned he was too sick to pay any attention to 
the banter of his companions, who unsympa- 
thetically made fun of him, and he lay down with 
the inward belief that smoking was not the 
pleasure it was said to be, and as for himself he 
would never touch a pipe again. 

All day Sunday and Monday the storm blew 
with unabated fury and the three were held close 
prisoners in the tilt. On Monday night it cleared, 
and Tuesday morning came clear and rasping 
cold. 

Long before daylight breakfast was eaten 
and preparations made for travelling. Bob 
lashed his tent, cooking utensils, some traps and 
a supply of provisions upon one of two tobog- 
gans that leaned against the tilt outside. The 
other one was for Bill when he should need it. 
Dick did up his blanket and a few provisions into 


ALONE IN THE WILDERNESS 73 

a light pack, new slings were adjusted to their 
snow-shoes and finally they were ready to strike 
the trails. 

The steel-gray dawn was just showing when 
Dick shouldered his pack, took his axe and gun 
and shook hands with the boys. 

‘‘ Good-bye Bob. Have a care o^ nasty 
weather an^ don^t be losin* yourself. Fll see you 
in a fortnight, Bill. Good-bye.^’ 

With long strides he turned down the river 
bend and in a few moments the immeasurable 
white wilderness had swallowed him up. 

The Big Hill trail was so called from a high, 
barren hill around whose base it swung to follow 
a series of lakes leading to the northwest. Of 
course as Bob had never been over the trail he 
did not know its course, or where to find the 
traps that Douglas had left hanging in the trees 
or lying on rocks the previous spring at the end 
of the hunting season. Bill was to go with him 
to the farthest tilt on this first journey to point 
these out to him and show him the way, then 
leave him and hurry back to his own path, while 
Bob set the traps and worked his way back to 
the junction tilt. 

Shortly after Dick left them they started. Bill 


74 


UNGAVA BOB 


going ahead and breaking the trail with his 
snow-shoes while Bob behind hauled the loaded 
toboggan. On they pushed through trees heavily 
laden with snow, out upon wide, frozen marshes, 
skirting lakes deep hidden beneath the ice and 
snow which covered them like a great white 
blanket. The only halts were for a moment now 
and again to note the location of traps as they 
passed, which Bob with his keen memory of the 
woods could easily find again when he returned 
to set them. Once they came upon some ptarmi- 
gans, white as the snow upon which they stood. 
Their grub bag ” received several of the birds, 
which were very tame and easily shot. A hur- 
ried march brought them to the first tilt at noon, 
where they had dinner, and that night, shortly 
after dark, they reached the second tilt, thirty 
miles from their starting point. At midday on 
Thursday they came to the end of the trail. 

When they had had dinner of fried ptarmigan 
and tea. Bill announced : “ Fll be leavin^ ye 

now. Bob. In two weeks from Friday we41 be 
meetin^ in th* river tilt.^^ 

All right, an* Til be there.** 

“ An* don*t be gettin’ lonesome, now I 
leaves un.** 


ALONE IN THE WILDERNESS 75 


ril be no gettin’ lonesome. There be' some 
traps t’ mend before I starts back an’ a chance 
bit o’ other work as’ll keep me busy.” 

Then Bill turned down the trail, and Bob for 
the first time in his life was quite alone in the 
heart of the great wilderness. 


VII 

A STREAK OF GOOD LUCK 

W HEN Bill was gone Bob went to work 
at once getting some traps that were 
hanging in the tilt in good working 
order. He set them and sprang them one 
after another, testing every one critically. 
They were practically all new ones, and 
Douglas, after his careful, painstaking manner, 
had left them in thorough repair. These were 
some additional traps that no place had been 
found for on the trail. There were only about 
twenty of them and Bob decided that he would 
set them along the shores of a lake beyond the 
tilt, where there were none, and look after them 
on the Saturday mornings that he would be lying 
up there. The next morning he put them on his 
toboggan, and shouldering his gun he started 
out. 

Not far away he saw the first marten track in 
the edge of the spruce woods near the lake. 
Farther on there were more. This was very 
satisfactory indeed, and he observed to himself, 
76 


A STREAK OF GOOD LUCK 77 

** The^s a wonderful lot o^ footin’, and ’tis sure 
a’ fine place for martens.” 

He went to work at once, and one after another 
the traps were set, some of them in a little circular 
enclosure made by sticking spruce boughs in the 
snow, to which a narrow entrance was left, and 
in this entrance the trap placed and carefully 
concealed under loose snow and the chain 
fastened to a near-by sapling. In the centre of 
each of the enclosures a bit of fresh partridge 
was placed for bait, to reach which the animal 
would have to pass over the trap. Where a tree 
of sufficient size was found in a promising place 
he chopped it down, a few feet above the snow, 
cut a notch in the top, and placed the trap in the 
notch, and arranged the bait over it in such a 
way that the animal climbing the stump would 
be compelled to stand upon the trap to secure 
the meat. 

All the marten traps were soon set, but there 
still remained two fox traps. These he took to a 
marsh some distance beyond the lake, as the 
most likely place for foxes to be, for while the 
marten stays amongst the trees, the fox prefers 
marshes or barrens. Here, in a place where the 
snow was hard, he carefully cut out a cube, mak- 


78 


UNGAVA BOB 


ing a hole deep enough for the trap to set below 
the surface. A square covering of crust was 
trimmed thin with his sheath knife, and fitted 
over the trap in such a way as to completely 
conceal it. The chain was fastened to a stump 
and also carefully concealed. Then over and 
around the trap pieces of ptarmigan were scat- 
tered. This he knew was not good fox bait, but 
it was the best he had. 

“Now if I were only havin’ a bit o’ scent 
’twould help me,” He commented as he surveyed 
his work : 

Foxes prefer meat or fish that is tainted and 
smells bad, and the more decomposed it is, the 
better it suits them. Bob had no tainted meat 
now, so he used what he had, in the hope that it 
might prove effective. A few drops of perfumery, 
or “ scent,” as he called it, would have made the 
fresh meat that he used more attractive to the ani- 
mals, but unfortunately he had none of that either. 

As he left the marsh and crossed from a neck 
of woods to the lake shore he saw two moving 
objects far out upon the ice. He dropped be- 
hind a clump of bushes. They were caribou. 

His gun would not reach them at that distance, 
and he picked up a dried stick and broke it. 


A STREAK OF GOOD LUCK 


79 


They heard the noise and looked towards him. 
He stood up, exposing himself for the fraction of 
a second, then concealed himself behind the 
bushes again. Caribou are very inquisitive ani- 
mals, and these walked towards him, for they 
wanted to ascertain what the strange object was 
that they had seen. When they had come 
within easy range he selected the smaller one, a 
young buck, aimed carefully at a spot behind the 
shoulders, and fired. The animal fell and its 
mate stood stupidly still and looked at it, and 
then advanced and smelled of it. Even the re- 
port of the gun had not satisfied its curiosity. 

It would have been an easy matter for Bob to 
shoot this second caribou, but the one he had 
killed was quite sufficient for his needs, and to 
kill the other would have been ruthless slaughter, 
little short of murder, and something that Bob, 
who was a true sportsman, would not stoop to. 
He therefore stepped out from his cover and re- 
vealed himself. Then when the animal saw him 
clearly, a living enemy, it turned and fled. 

Bob removed the skin and quartered the 
carcass. These he loaded upon his toboggan 
and hauled to his tilt. The meat was suspended 
from the limb of a tree outside, where animals 


8o 


UNGAVA BOB 


could not reach it and where it would freeze and 
keep sweet until needed. A small piece was 
taken into the tilt for immediate use, and some 
portions of the neck placed in the corner of the 
tilt where they would decompose somewhat and 
thus be rendered into desirable fox bait. The 
skin was stretched against the logs of the side of 
the shack farthest from the stove, to dry. ' This 
would make an excellent cover for Bob’s couch 
and be warm and comfortable to sleep upon. 
The sinew, taken from the back of the animal, 
was scraped and hung from the roof to season, 
for he would need it later to use as thread with 
which to repair moccasins. 

Now there was little to do for two or three 
days, and Bob began for the first time to under- 
stand the true loneliness of his new life. The 
wilderness was working its mysterious influence 
upon him. It seemed a long, long while since 
Bill had left him, and he recalled his last Sunday 
at Wolf Bight as one recalls an event years after 
it has happened. Sometimes he longed pas- 
sionately for home and human companionship. 
At other times he was quite content with his day 
to day existence, and almost forgot that the world 
contained any one else. 


A STREAK OF GOOD LUCK 8i 

Early the next week he visited the traps. In 
one he found a Canada jay that had tried 
to filch the bait. In another a big white rabbit 
which had been caught while nibbling the young 
tops of the spruce boughs with which the trap 
was enclosed. A single marten rewarded him. 
The pelt was not prime, as it was yet early in the 
season, but still it was fairly good and Bob was 
delighted with it. 

The fox traps had not been disturbed, but a 
fox had been feeding upon the caribou head and 
entrails, where they had been left upon the ice, 
and one of the traps was taken up and reset 
here. The others he also put in order, and re- 
turned to the tilt with the rabbit and marten. 
The former, boiled with small bits of pork, made 
a splendid stew, and the skin was hung to dry, 
for, with others it could be fashioned into warm, 
light slippers to wear inside his moccasins when 
the colder weather came. 

The marten pelt was removed from the body 
by splitting it down the inside of the hind legs 
to the trunk, and then pulling it down over the 
head, turning it inside out in the process. In 
the tilt were a number of stretching boards, that 
Douglai^ had provided, tapered down from several 


82 


UNGAVA BOB 


inches wide at one end until they were narrow 
enough at the other end to slip snugly into the 
nose of the pelt. Over one of these, with the 
flesh side out, the skin was tightly drawn and 
fastened. Then with his knife Bob scraped it 
carefully, removing such fat and flesh as had 
adhered to it, after which he placed it in a con- 
venient place to dry. 

Bob felt very much elated over this first catch 
of fur, and was anxious to get at the real trap- 
ping. It was only Tuesday, and Bill would not 
be at the river tilt until Friday of the following 
week, but he decided to start back the next 
morning and set all his traps. So on Wednes- 
day morning, with a quarter of venison on his 
flat sled, he turned down over the trail. 

Everything went well. Signs of fur were 
good and Bob was brimming over with anticipa- 
tion when a week later he reached the river. 

Bill did not arrive until after dark the next 
evening, and when he pushed the tilt door open he 
found Bob frying venison steak and a kettle of 
tea ready for supper. 

“ Ho, Bob, back ahead o^ me, be un ? Where’d 
ye get th^ deer’s meat ? ” 

“ Knocked un over after you left me ’Tis 


A STREAK OF GOOD LUCK 83 

fine t’ be back an^ see you, Bill. Fve been won- 
derful lonesome, and wantin^ F see you wonder- 
ful bad.’» 

** An’ I was thinkin’ ye’d be gettin’ lonesome 
by now. You’ll not be mindin’ bein’ alone when 
you gets used to un. It’s all gettin’ used t’ un.” 

‘‘ An’ what’s th’ signs o’ fur ? Be there much 
marten signs ? ” 

“ Aye, some. Looks like un goin’ t’ be some. 
An’ be there much signs on th’ Big Hill trail? 
Dick says there’s a lot o’ footin’ his way.” 

‘‘ I /las one marten,” said Bob proudly, “ an’ 
finds good signs.” 

‘‘ Un ^as one a’ready ! An’ be un a good 
un?” 

‘‘ Not so bad.” 

“ Well, you be startin’ fine, gettin’ th’ first 
marten an’ th’ first deer.” 

Bill had taken off his adikey and disposed of 
his things, and they sat down to eat and enjoy 
a long evening’s chat. 

With every week the cold grew in intensity, 
and with every storm the snow grew deeper, 
hiding the smaller trees entirely and reaching up 
towards the lower limbs of the larger ones. The 
little tilts were covered to the roof, and only a 


84 UNGAVA BOB 

hole in the white mass showed where the door 
was. 

The sun now described a daily narrowing arc 
in the heavens, and the hours of light were so 
few that the hunters found it difficult to cover the 
distance between their tilts in the little while 
from dawn to dark. On moonlight mornings 
Bob started long before day, and on starlight even- 
ings finished his day’s work after night. His 
cheeks and nose were frost-bitten and black, but 
he did not mind that for he was doing well. 
Two weeks before Christmas he brought to the 
river tilt the fur that he had accumulated. There 
were twenty-eight martens, one mink, two red 
foxes, one cross fox, a lynx and a wolf. These 
last two animals he had shot. Bill was already 
in the tilt when he arrived, and complimented 
him on his good showing. 

Christmas fell on Wednesday that year, and 
Bill brought word that Dick and Ed were com- 
ing up to spend the day with him and Bob. 
They would reach the tilt on Tuesday night and 
use the remainder of the week in a caribou hunt, 
as there were good signs of the animals a little 
way back in the marshes and they were in need 
of fresh meat. 


A STREAK OF GOOD LUCK 85 

‘‘An* ril not try t’ be gettin* here on Friday/’ 
said Bill. “ I’ll be waitin’ till Tuesday.” 

“ I’ll be doin’ th’ same, but I’ll be here sure on 
a Tuesday, an’ maybe Monday,” answered 
Bob. 

So it was arranged that they should have a 
holiday, and all be together again. It gave Bob 
a thrill of pleasure when he thought of meeting 
Dick and Ed and proudly exhibiting his fur to 
have them examine and criticise the skins and 
compliment him. It would make a break in the 
monotonous life. 

The day after Bob left the river tilt on his re- 
turn round, the great dream with which he had 
started out from Wolf Bight became a reality. 
He caught a silver fox. It was almost evening 
when he turned into a marsh where the trap was 
set. He had caught nothing in it before, and he 
was thinking seriously of taking it up and plac- 
ing it farther along the trail. But now in the 
half dusk, as he approached, something moved. 
“ Sure ’tis a cross,” said he. When he came 
closer and saw that it was really a silver he 
could not for a moment believe his good fortune. 
It was too good to be true. When he had killed 
it and taken it out of the trap he hurried to the 


86 


UNGAVA BOB 


tilt hugging it closely to his breast as though 
afraid it would get away. 

In the tilt he lighted a candle and examined 
it It was a beauty ! It was worth a lot of money ! 
He patted it and turned it over. Then — there 
was no one to see him and question his man- 
hood or jibe at his weakness — he cried — cried 
for pure joy. “’Tis th’ savin' o’ Emily an’ 
makin’ she well — an’ makin’ she well I ” He 
had prayed that he would get a silver, but his 
faith had been weak and he had never really be- 
lieved he should. Now he had it and his cup of 
joy was full. “ Sure th’ Lard be good,” he re- 
peated to himself. 

It was starlight two evenings later when he 
neared his last tilt. Clear and beautiful and 
intensely cold was the silent white wilderness 
and Bob’s heart was as clear and light as the 
frosty air. When the black spot that marked 
the roof of the almost hidden shack met his view 
he stopped. A thin curl of smoke was rising 
from the stovepipe. Some one was in the tilt I 
He hesitated for only a moment, then hurried 
forward and pushed the door open. There, 
smoking his pipe sat Micmac John. 


VIII 

MICMAC JOHN’S REVENGE 


E 


^ VENIN\ Bob/^ said Micmac. 

‘‘ Evenin’, John. An’ where’d you be 
cornin’ from now ? ” 

“Been huntin’ t’ th’ suth’ard. Thought I’d 
drop in an’ see ye.” 

“ Glad t’ see ye, John.” 

After an awkward pause Bob asked : 

“What un do wi’ th’ stove, John ?” 

“What stove? ” 

“ From th’ river tilt. Ye took un, didn’t ye?” 

“ No, I didn’t take no stove. I weren’t in th’ 
river tilt, an’ don’t know what yer talkin’ about,” 
lied the half-breed. 

“Some one took un an’ we was layin’ it t’ 
you. Now I wonders who ’twere.” 

“ Well, / wouldn’t take it. Ye ought t’ known 
I wouldn’t do a thing like that,” insisted Micmac, 
with an air of injured innocence. “Maybe th’ 
Mingen Injuns took it. There’s been some 
around an’ they says they’ll take anything they 
find, an’ fur too, if they find any in th’ tilts. 

37 


88 


UNGAVA BOB 


These are their huntin’ grounds an’ outsiders 
has no right on ’em. They gave me right t’ 
hunt down t’ th’ suth’ard.” 

‘‘Who may th’ Mingen Injuns be, now?” 

“Mountaineers as belong Mingen way up 
south, an’ hunts between this an’ th’ Straits.” 

“I were thinkin’ ’twere th’ Nascaupees took 
th’ stove if you didn’t take un.” 

“Th’ Nascaupees are back here a bit t’ th’ 
west’ard. I saw some of ’em one day when I 
was cruisin’ that way an’ I made tracks back fer 
I didn’t want t’ die so quick. They’ll kill any- 
body they see in here, an’ burn th’ tilts if they 
happen over this way an’ see ’em. Ye have t’ 
be on th’ watch fer ’em all th’ time.” 

“ I’ll be watchin’ out fer un an’ keep clear if I 
sees their footin’,” said Bob as he went out to 
bring in his things. 

What Micmac said about the Nascaupees dis- 
turbed him not a little. Bob was brave, but 
every man, no matter how brave he may be, 
fears an unseen danger when he believes that 
danger is real and is apt to come upon him un- 
expectedly and at a time when no opportunity 
will be offered for defense. It was evident that 
these Indians were close at hand, and that he was 


MICMAC JOHN’S REVENGE 89 

in daily and imminent danger of being captured, 
which meant, he was sure, being killed. But he 
was here for a purpose — to catch all the fur he 
could — and he must not lose his courage now, 
before that purpose was accomplished. He must 
remain on his trail until the hunting season closed. 
He must be constantly upon his guard, he 
thought, and perhaps after all would not be dis- 
covered. No, he would not let himself be afraid. 

When he returned to the tilt Micmac John 
asked : 

“ Gettin’ much fur ? ” 

“ Not so bad,” he replied. I has one silver, 
an’ a fine un, too.” 

The half-breed showed marked interest at 
once. 

‘‘ Let’s see him. Got him here ? ” 

“No, I left un in th’ third tilt. That’s where I 
caught un.” 

“ Where’s yer other fur ? ” 

“ I took un all down t’ th’ river tilt. There’s a 
cross among un an’ twenty-eight martens.” 

“Um-m.” 

Micmac John knew well enough the fur had 
been taken to some other tilt, for when he ar- 
rived here early in the afternoon his first care was 


90 


UNGAVA BOB 


to look for it, but not a skin had he found, and 
he was disappointed, for it was the purpose of his 
visit. Bob, absolutely honest and guileless him- 
self, in spite of Dick’s constant assertion that 
Micmac was a thief and worse, was easily de- 
ceived by the half-breed’s bland manner. Un- 
fortunately he had not learned that every one else 
was not as honest and straightforward as himself. 
Micmac’ s attempt upon his life he had ascribed 
to a sudden burst of anger, and it was forgiven 
and forgotten. The selfish enmity, the blackness 
of heart, the sinister nature that will never over- 
look and will go to any length to avenge a real 
or fancied wrong — the characteristics of a half- 
breed Indian — were wholly beyond his compre- 
hension. He had never dissembled himself, and 
he did not know that the smiling face and smooth 
tongue are often screens of deception. 

“ We’ll be havin’ supper now,” suggested Bob, 
lifting the boiling kettle off the stove and throw- 
ing in some tea. “ I’m fair starved.” 

After they had eaten Micmac filled his pipe 
and lounged back, smoking in silence for some 
time, apparently deep in thought. Finally he 
asked, “ When ye goin’ back t’ th’ river. Bob ? ” 

” I’m not thinkin t’ start back till Wednesday 


91 


MICMAC JOHN’S REVENGE 

an* maybe Thursday, an* reach un Monday or 
Tuesday after. Bill won’t be gettin’ there till 
Tuesday, an* Dick an* Ed expects t’ be there then 
t* spend Christmas an^ hunt deer.** 

‘‘ Hunt deer ? ** 

“ They’re needin’ fresh meat, an* deer footin’s 
good in th* meshes.” 

“ The’s fine signs to th’ nuth’ard from th’ sec- 
ond lake in, ’bout twenty mile from here. You 
could get some there. If ye ain’t goin’ back till 
Wednesday why don’t ye try ’em? Ye’d get as 
many as ye wanted,” volunteered Micmac. 

‘‘ Where now be that ? ” 

“ Why just ’cross th’ first mesh up here, an* 
through th’ bush straight over ye’ll come to a 
lake. Cross that t’ where a dead tree hangs out 
over th’ ice. Cut in there an’ ye’ll see my 
footin’ ; foller it over t’ th’ next lake, then turn right 
t’ th’ nuth’ard. The’s some meshes in there 
where th’ deer’s feedin’. I seen fifteen or twenty, 
but I didn’t want ’em so I let ’em be. 

‘‘ An’ could I make un now in a day ? ” 

“ If ye walk sharp an’ start early.” 

‘‘ I thinks I’ll be startin’ in th’ mornin’ an* 
campin’ over there Sunday, an’ Monday I’ll be 
there t’ hunt. Can’t un come ’long, John ? ’* 


92 


UNGAVA BOB 


No, Fd like F go but I got t’ see my traps. 
F 11 have F be leavin’ ye now,” said Micmac, rising. 

“ Not F-night?” 

“Yes, it’s fine moonlight an’ I can make it all 
right.” 

“Ye better stay th’ night wi’ me, John. There’ll 
be no difference in a day.” 

“No. I planned t’ be goin’ right back I seen 
ye. Good evenin’.” 

“ Good evenin’, John.” 

Micmac John started directly south, but when 
well out of sight of the tilt suddenly swung 
around to the eastward and, with the long half- 
running stride of the Indian, made a straight 
line for the tilt where Bob had left his silver fox. 
The moon was full, and the frost that clung to 
the trees and bushes sparkled like flakes of 
silver. The aurora faintly searched the northern 
sky. A rabbit, white and spectre-like, scurried 
across the half-breed’s path, but he did not 
notice it. Hour after hour his never tiring feet 
swung the wide snow-shoes in and out with a 
rhythmic chug-chug as he ran on. 

It was nearly morning when at length he 
slackened his pace, and with the caution of the life- 
long hunter approached the tilt as he would have 


93 


MICMAC JOHN’S REVENGE 

stalked an animal. He made quite certain that 
the shack was untenanted, then entered boldly. 
He struck a match and found a candle, which he 
lighted. There was the silver fox, where Bob 
had left it. It was dry enough to remove from 
the board and he loosened it and pulled it off. 
He examined it critically and gloated over it. 

“ As black an’ fine a one as I ever seen I ” he 
exclaimed. It’ll bring a big price at Mingen. 
That boy’ll never see it again, an’ I’ll clean out 
th’ rest o’ th’ fur too, at th’ river. Old Camp- 
bell’ll be sorry when I get through with ’em, he 
let that feller hunt th’ path. He’s a fool, an’ if 
he gives me th’ slip he’ll go back an’ say th’ 
Mingen Injuns took his fur. I fixed that wi’ my 
story all right. I’ll take th’ lot t’ Mingen an’ get 
cash fer ’em, an’ be back t’ th’ Bay with open 
water with ’nufi martens so’s they won’t suspect 
me.” 

He started a fire and slept until shortly after 
daylight. Then had breakfast and started down 
the trail towards the river at the same rapid pace 
that he had held before. 

It was not quite dark when he glimpsed the 
tilt, and approached it with even more caution 
than he had observed above. 


94 


UNGAVA BOB 


“He don^t know enough to lie,” said he to 
himself, referring to Bob, “ but it’s best t’ take 
care, fer one o’ th’ others might be here.” 

When he was satisfied that the tilt was un- 
occupied he entered boldly and appropriated 
every skin of fur he found — not only all of Bob’s, 
but also a few martens Bill had left there. No 
time was lost, for any accident might send Bill 
or one of the others here at an unexpected 
moment. The pelts were packed quickly but 
carefully into his hunting bag and within twenty 
minutes after his arrival he was retreating up 
the trail at a half run. 

Some time after dark he reached the first tilt 
above the river, where he spent the night. 
Short cuts and fast travelling brought him on 
Sunday night to the tilt at the end of the trail 
where he had left Bob. He made quite certain 
that the lad had really gone on his caribou hunt, 
and then went boldly in and made himself as 
comfortable as he could for the night without a 
stove, for Bob had taken the stove with him, to 
heat his tent. 

“ If he comes back t’-night and finds me here,” 
he said, “ I’ll just tell him I changed my mind an’ 
came back t’ go on th’ deer hunt. I’ll lie t’ him 


MICMAC JOHN’S REVENGE 95 

about what I got in my bag an’ he’ll never sus- 
picion ; he don’t know enough.” 

Micmac John’s work was not yet finished. He 
had arranged a full and complete revenge. 
Bob’s hunt for caribou would carry him far away 
from the tilt and into a section where no search- 
ing party would be likely to go. The half-breed’s 
plan was now to follow and shoot the lad from 
ambush. If by chance any one ever should find 
the body — which seemed a quite improbable 
happening — Bob’s death would no doubt be laid 
at the door of the Nascaupee Indians. 

Micmac John deposited the bag of stolen 
pelts in a safe place in the tilt, intending to re- 
turn for them after his bloody mission was ac- 
complished, and_^several hours before daylight on 
Monday morning started out in the ghostly 
moonlight to trail Bob to his death. 


IX 

LOST IN THE SNOW 
HE trail that Bob had made lay open 



and well-defined in the snow, and hour 


after hour the half-breed followed it, 
like a hound follows its prey. 

Early in the morning the sky clouded heavily 
and towards noon snow began to fall. It was a 
bitterly cold day. Micmac John increased his 
pace for the trail would soon be hidden and he 
was not quite sure when he should find the camp. 
From the lakes the trail turned directly north and 
for several miles ran through a flat, wooded 
country. After a while there were wide open 
marshes, with narrow timbered strips between. 
An hour after noon he crossed a two mile stretch 
of this marsh and in a little clump of trees on the 
farther side of it came so suddenly upon the tent 
that he almost ran against it. 

The snow was by this time falling thickly and 
a rising westerly wind was sweeping the marsh 
making travelling exceedingly difficult, and com- 
pletely hiding the trail beyond the trees. 


LOST IN THE SNOW 


97 


The tent flaps were fastened on the outside, 
and Bob was away, as Micmac John expected 
he would be, searching for caribou. 

“There’s no use tryin’ t’ foller him in this 
snow,” said he to himself, “ I’d be sure t’ miss 
him. But I’ll take the tent an’ outfit away on 
his flat sled an’ if he don’t have cover th’ cold '11 
fix him before mornin’. There’ll be no livin’ in 
it over night with th’ wind blowin’ a gale as it’s 
goin’ to do with dark. My footin’ ’ll soon be hid 
an’ he can’t foller me. I can shoot him easy 
enough if he does.” 

It was the work of only a few minutes to strike 
the tent and pack it and the other things, which 
included the stove, an axe, blanket and food, on 
the toboggan. 

The half-breed was highly elated when he 
started off with his booty. The storm had come 
at just the right time. The elements would work 
a slower but just as sure a revenge as his gun 
and at the same time cover every trace of his 
villainy. He laughed as he pictured to himself 
Bob’s look of mystification and alarm when he 
returned and failed to find the tent, and how the 
lad would think he had made a mistake in the 
location and the desperate search for the camp 


98 


UNGAVA BOB 


that would follow, only to end finally in the snow 
and cold conquering him, as they were sure to 
do, and the wolves perhaps scattering his bones. 

‘‘ That’s a fine end t’ him an’ he’ll never be 
takin’ trails away from me again,” he chuckled. 

The whole picture as he imagined it was food 
for his black heart and he forgot his own un- 
comfortable position in the delight that he felt at 
the horrible death that he had so cleverly and 
cruelly arranged for Bob. 

Micmac John retraced his steps some eight 
miles to the wide stretch of timber land. There 
he halted and pitched camp. The wind shrieked 
through the tree tops and swept the marshes in 
its untamed fury, but he was quite warm and 
contented in the tent. The storm was working 
his revenge for him, and he was quite satisfied 
that it would do the work well. 

The men that Bob Gray had come in contact 
with and associated with all his life were the 
honest, upright people of the Bay. He had 
never known a man that would dishonestly take 
a farthing’s worth of another’s property or that 
would knowingly harm a fellow being. The 
Bay folk were constantly helping their more 
needy neighbours and lived almost as intimately 


LOST IN THE SNOW 


99 


as brothers. When any one was in trouble the 
others came to offer sympathy and frequently 
deprived themselves of the actual necessaries of 
life that their neighbours might not suffer. 
Sometimes they had their misunderstandings 
and quarrels, but these were all of a momentary 
character and quickly forgotten. 

There was little wonder then that Bob had 
failed to read Micmac John’s true character, and 
it could hardly be expected that he would sus- 
pect the half-breed of trying to injure him. 
Children of these far-off, thinly populated lands 
in many respects develop judgment and mature 
in thought at a much younger age than in more 
thickly settled and more favoured countries. 
One reason for this is the constant fight for ex- 
istence that is being waged and the necessity for 
them to take up their share of the burden of life 
early. Another reason is doubtless the fact that 
their isolated homes cut them off from the com- 
panionship of children of their own age and their 
associates are almost wholly men and women 
grown. This was the case with Bob and in 
courage, thoughtfulness of the comfort of others 
and physical endurance he was a man, while in 
guile he was a mere baby. He believed that 


trOfC. 


lOO 


UNGAVA BOB 


Micmac John was like every other man he knew 
and was a good neighbour. 

When men have lived long in the wilderness 
without fresh meat they have a tremendous long- 
ing for it. Bob knew that neither Dick nor Ed 
had tasted venison since they reached their 
hunting grounds, for they had not been as for- 
tunate as he, and that some of the fresh-killed 
meat would be a great treat to them and one 
they would appreciate. Therefore when Micmac 
John told him how easily caribou could be killed 
a day’s journey to the northward, he thought 
that it would make a nice Christmas surprise for 
his friends if he hauled a toboggan load of 
venison down to the river tilt with him. True 
they had planned a hunt, but that would take 
place after Christmas and he wanted to make 
them happy on that day. 

So after Micmac John left him on Friday night 
he prepared for an early start to the caribou feed- 
ing grounds on Saturday morning. 

We have seen the route he took across the 
lakes and timbered flats and marshes to the place 
where he pitched his camp in the little clump of 
diminutive fir trees almost twenty miles from his 
tilt. It was evening when he reached there and 


LOST IN THE SNOW 


lOI 


up to this time, to his astonishment, he had seen 
no signs of caribou. A few miles beyond the 
marsh he saw a ridge of low hills running east 
and west and decided that the feeding grounds 
of the animals must lie the other side of 
them. 

He banked the snow around the tent to keep 
out the wind, broke an abundant supply of green 
boughs for a bed, and cut a good stock of wood 
for the day of rest. Two logs were placed in a 
parallel position in the tent upon which to rest 
the stove that it might not sink in the deep snow 
with the heat. Then it was put up, and a fire 
started, and he was very comfortably settled for 
the night. 

The unfamiliar and unusually bleak character 
of the country gave him a feeling of restlessness 
and dissatisfaction when he arose on Sunday 
morning and viewed his surroundings. It was 
quite different from anything he had ever ex- 
perienced before and he had a strong desire to 
go out at once and look for the caribou, and if 
no signs of them were found to turn back on 
Monday to the tilt. But then he asked himself, 
would his mother approve of this ? He decided 
that she would not, and, said he : Twould be 


102 


UNGAVA BOB 


huntin’ just as much as t’ go shootin’ and th’ 
Lard would be gettin’ angry wi’ me too.” 

That kept him from going, and he spent the 
day in the tent drawing mind pictures of the 
little cabin home that he longed so much to see 
and the loved ones that were there. The thought 
of little Emily, lying helpless but still so patient, 
brought tears to his eyes. But all would be well 
in the end, he told himself, for God was good 
and had given him the silver fox he had prayed 
for that Emily might go and be cured. 

What a proud and happy day it would be for 
him when with his greatest hopes fulfilled, the 
boat ground her nose again upon the beach be- 
low the cabin from which he had started so full of 
ambition that long ago morning in September. 
How his father would come down to shake his 
hand and say : “ My stalwart lad has done 

bravely, an’ I’m proud o’ un.” His mother, all 
smiles, would run out to meet him and take him 
in her arms and praise and pet him, and then he 
would hurry in to see dear, patient little Emily 
on her couch, and her face would light up at 
sight of him and she would hold out her hands 
to him in an ecstasy of delight and call : “ Oh, 

Bob I Bob I my fine big brother has come back 


LOST IN THE SNOW 


103 


to me at last ! ” Then he would bring in his furs 
and proudly exhibit the silver fox and hear their 
praises, and perhaps he would have another 
silver fox by that time. After a while Douglas 
Campbell would come over and tell him how 
wonderfully well he had done. With his share 
of the martens he would pay his debt to the 
company, and he and Douglas would let the 
mail boat doctor sell the silver fox and other 
skins for them, and Emily would go to the 
hospital and after a little while come back her 
old gay little self again, to romp and play and 
laugh and tease him as she used to do. With 
fancy making for him these dreams of happiness, 
the day passed after all much less tediously than 
he had expected. 

On Monday morning, as soon as it was light 
enough to see. Bob started out to look for the 
caribou, leaving the tent as Micmac John found 
it. He made the great mistake of not taking 
with him his axe, for an axe is often a life saver 
in the northern wilderness, and a hunter should 
never be without one. He crossed the marsh 
and then the ridge of low hills to the northward, 
finally coming out upon a large lake. It was 
now midday, the snow had commenced fall- 


104 UNGAVA BOB 

ing, and to continue the hunt further was use- 
less. 

** ’Tis goin’ f be nasty weather an* Til have t’ 
be gettin’ back t* th’ tent,’* said he regretfully as 
he realized that a severe storm was upon 
him. 

Reluctantly he retraced his steps. In a little 
while his tracks were all covered, and not a 
landmark that he had noted on his inward 
journey was visible through the blinding snow. 
He reached the ridge in safety, however, and 
crossed it and then took the direction that he 
believed would carry him to the camp, using the 
wind, which had been blowing from the west- 
ward all day, as his guide. Towards dark he 
came to what he supposed was the clump of trees 
where he had left his tent in the morning, but no 
tent was there. 

’Tis wonderful strange I ” he exclaimed as he 
stood for a moment in uncertainty. 

He was quite positive it was the right place, 
and he looked for axe cuttings, where he had 
chopped down trees for fire-wood, and found 
them. So, this was the place, but where was 
the tent? He was mystified. He searched up 
and down every corner of the grove, but found 


LOST IN THE SNOW 


105 


no clue. Could the Nascaupees have found his 
camp and carried his things away ? There was 
no other solution. 

“ Th^ Nascaupees has took un. The Nascau- 
pees has sure took un,” he said dejectedly, when 
he realized that the tent was really gone. 

His situation was now desperate. He had no 
axe with which to build a temporary shelter or 
cut wood for a fire. The nearest cover was his 
tilt, and to reach it in the blinding, smothering 
snow-storm seemed hopeless. Already the cold 
w’^as eating to his bones and he knew he must 
keep moving or freeze to death. 

With the wind on his right he turned towards 
the south in the gathering darkness. He could 
not see two yards ahead. Blindly he plodded 
along hour after hour. As the time dragged on 
it seemed to him that he had been walking for 
ages. His motion became mechanical. He was 
faint from hunger and his mouth parched with 
thirst. The bitter wind was reaching to his very 
vitals in spite of the exertion, and at last he did 
not feel it much. He stumbled and fell now and 
again and each time it was more difficult to 
rise. 

There was always a strong inclination to lie a 


io6 


UNGAVA BOB 


little where he fell and rest, but his benumbed 
brain told him that to stop walking meant death, 
and urged him up again to further action. 

Finally the snow ceased but he did not notice it. 
With his head held back and staring straight be- 
fore him at nothing he stalked on throwing his 
feet ahead like an automaton. The stars came 
out one after another and looked down pitilessly 
upon the tragedy that was being enacted before 
their very eyes. 

Many hours had passed ; morning was close at 
hand. The cold grew more intensely bitter but 
Bob did not know it. He was quite insensible 
to sensations now. Vaguely he imagined him- 
self going home to Wolf Bight. It was not far — 
he was almost there. In a little while he would 
see his father and mother and Emily — Emily — 
Emily was sick. He had something to make her 
her well — make her well — a silver fox — that would 
do it — yes, that would do it — a silver fox would 
make her well — dear little Emily. 

From the distance there came over the frozen 
world a wolfs howl, followed by another and 
another. The wolves were giving the cry of 
pursuit. There must be many of them and they 
were after caribou or game of some sort. This 


LOST IN THE SNOW 


107 

was the o^ly impression the sound made upon his 
numbed senses. 

Daylight was coming. He was very sleepy — 
very, very sleepy. Why not go to sleep ? There 
was no reason for walking when it was so nice 
and warm here— and he was so weary and 
sleepy. There were trees all around and a nice 
white bed spread under them. He stumbled and 
fell and did not try to get up. Why should he ? 
There was plenty of time to go home. It was so 
comfortable and soft here and he was so sleepy. 

Then he imagined that he was in the warm tilt 
with the fire crackling in the stove. He cuddled 
down in the snow, and said the little prayer that 
he never forgot at night. 

** Now-I-lay-me-down-to-sleep, 
I-pray-thee-Lard-my-soul-to-keep, 
If-I-should-die-before-I-wake 
I-pray-thee-Lard-my-soul-to-take. 

An’ -God-make-Emily-well. ’ ’ 

The wolves were clamouring in the distance. 
They had caught the game that they were chasing. 
He could just hear them as he fell asleep. 

The sun broke with the glory of a new world 
over the white wilderness. The wolf howls 
ceased — and all was still. 


X 

THE PENALTY 


OR some reason Micmac John could not 



sleep. A little while he lay awake volun- 


tarily, trying to contrive a plan to follow 
should he be found out. If, after he returned to 
the tilt for the pelts, there should not be sufficient 
snow to cover his trail, for instance, before the 
searching party came to look for Bob — and it 
surely would come, headed by Dick Blake — he 
would be in grave danger of being discovered. 
Why had he not thought of all this before ? He 
was afraid of Dick Blake, and Dick was the one 
man in the world, perhaps, that he was afraid of. 
Would Dick shoot him ? he asked himself. Prob- 
ably. If he were found he would have to die. 

Life is sweet to a strong, healthy man brought 
face to face with the reality of death. In his 
more than half savage existence Micmac John 
had faced death frequently, and sometimes daily 
and had never shrunk from it or felt a tremour of 
fear. He had held neither his own nor the life of 
other men as a thing of much value. The fact 


io8 


THE PENALTY 


109 


was that never before had he given one serious 
thought to what it meant to die. Like the foxes 
and the wolves, he had been an animal of prey 
and had looked upon life and death with hardly 
more consideration than they, and with the sto- 
ical indifference of his savage Indian an- 
cestors. 

But for some inexplicable reason this night the 
white half of his nature had been awakened and 
he found himself thinking of what it meant to 
die — to cease to be, with the world going on and 
on afterwards just as though nothing had hap- 
pened. Then the teachings of a missionary whom 
he had heard preach in Nova Scotia came to him. 
He remembered what had been said of eternal 
happiness or eternal torment — that one or the 
other state awaited the soul of every one after 
death. Then a great terror took possession of 
him. If Bob Gray died, as he certainly must in 
this storm, he would be responsible for it, and his 
soul would be consigned to eternal torment — the 
terrible torment to last forever and forever, de- 
picted by the missionary. He had committed 
many sins in his life, but they were of the past 
and forgotten. This was of the present. He 
could already, in his frenzied imagination see 


no 


UNGAVA BOB 


Dick Blake, the avenger. Dick would shoot him. 
That was certain — and then — eternal torment. 

The wind moaned outside, and then rose to a 
shriek. He sprang up and looked wildly about 
him. It was the shriek of a damned soul I No, 
he had been dozing and it was only a dream, 
and he lay back trembling. 

For a long while he could not go to sleep 
again. Fear had taken absolute and complete 
possession of him — the fear of the eternal damna- 
tion that the missionary had so vividly pictured. 
It was a picture that had been received at the 
time without being seen and through all these 
years had remained in his brain, covered and 
hidden. This day’s work had suddenly and for 
the first time drawn aside the screen and left it 
bare before his eyes displaying to him every fear- 
ful minute outline. He was a murderer and he 
would be punished. There was no thought of 
repentance for sins committed — only fear of a 
fate that he shrunk from but which confronted 
him as a reality and a certainty — as great a cer- 
tainty as his rising in the morning and so near 
at hand. He got up and looked out. The wind 
blew clouds of snow into his face. He could not 
see the tree that he knew was ten feet away. It 


THE PENALTY in 

was an awful night for a man to be out without 
shelter. 

Micmac John lay down again and after a time 
the tired brain and body yielded to nature and 
he slept. 

The instincts of the half-breed, keen even in 
slumber, felt rather than heard the diminishing 
of wind and snow as the storm subsided with the 
approach of morning, and he arose at once. 
The rest had quieted his nerves, and he was the 
stolid, revengeful Indian again. After a meagre 
breakfast of tea and jerked venison he took down 
the tent and lashed the things securely upon the 
toboggan and ere the first stars began to glim- 
mer through the cloud rifts he was hurrying away 
in the stillness of the night. 

When the sky finally cleared and the moon 
came out, cold and brilliant, there was some- 
thing uncanny and weird in its light lying upon 
earth^s white shroud rent here and there by long, 
dark shadows across the trail. There was an in- 
definable mystery in the atmosphere. Micmac 
John, accustomed as he was to the wilderness, 
felt an uneasiness in his soul, the reflex perhaps 
of the previous nighfls awakening, that he could 
not quite throw off — a sense of impending 


II2 


UNGAVA BOB 


danger — of a calamity about to happen. The 
trees became mighty men ready to strike at him 
as he approached and behind every bush 
crouched a waiting enemy. His guilty con- 
science was at work. The little spirit that God 
had placed within his bosom, to tell him when he 
was doing wrong, was not quite dead. 

He increased his speed as daylight approached 
travelling almost at a run. Suddenly he stopped 
to listen. From somewhere in the distance be- 
hind him a wolf cry broke the morning silence. 
In a little while there were more wolf cries, and 
they were coming nearer and nearer. The ani- 
mals were doubtless following some quarry. 
Was it Bob they were after? A momentary 
qualm at the thought was quickly replaced by a 
feeling of satisfaction. That, he tried to argue 
with himself, would cover every clue to what had 
happened and was what he had hoped for. He 
hurried on. 

All at once a spasm of fear brought him to a 
halt. Could it be himself the wolves were trailing ! 
The old horror of the night came back with 
all its reality and force. A clammy sweat broke 
out upon his body. He looked wildly about him 
for a retreat, but there was none. The wolves 


THE PENALTY 


113 

were gaining upon him rapidly and were very 
close now. There was no longer any doubt that 
he was their quarry. They were trailing him, 
Micmac John was in a narrow, open marsh, and 
the wolves were already at the edge of the woods 
that skirted it a hundred yards behind. A little 
distance ahead of him was a big boulder, and he 
ran for it. At that moment the pack came into 
view. He stopped and stood paralyzed until 
they were within thirty yards of him, then he 
turned mechanically, from force of habit, and 
fired at the leader, which fell. This held them 
in check for an instant and roused him to action. 
He grabbed an axe from the toboggan and had 
time to gain the rock and take a stand with his 
back against it. 

As the animals rushed upon the half breed 
he swung the axe and split the head of one. 
This temporarily repulsed them. He held them 
at bay for a time, swinging his axe at every at- 
tempted approach. They formed themselves 
into a half circle just beyond his reach, snapping 
and snarling at him and showing their ugly 
fangs. Another big gray creature, bolder than 
the rest, made a rush, but the swinging axe split 
its head, just as it had the others. They re- 


UNGAVA BOB 


1 14 

treated a few paces, but they were not to be 
kept back for long. Micmac John knew that his 
end had come. His face was drawn and terrified, 
and in spite of the fearful cold and biting frost, 
perspiration stood out upon his forehead. 

It was broad daylight now. Another wolf at- 
tacked from the front and fell under the axe. A 
little longer they parleyed. They were gradually 
growing more bold and narrowing the circle — 
coming so close that they were almost within reach 
of the swinging weapon. Finally a wolf on the 
right, and one on the left, charged at the same 
time, and in an instant those in front, as though 
acting upon a prearranged signal, closed in, and 
the pack became one snarling, fighting, clamour- 
ing mass. 

When the sun broke over the eastern horizon 
a little later it looked upon a circle of flat-tramped, 
blood-stained snow, over which were scattered 
bare picked human bones and pieces of torn 
clothing. A pack of wolves trotted leisurely 
away over the marsh. 

In the woods not a mile distant two Indian 
hunters were following the trail that led to Bob^s 
unconscious body. 



“Micmac John knew his end had come” 





XI 


THE TRAGEDY OF THE TRAIL 

A WEEK passed and Christmas eve came. 
The weather continued clear and sur- 
passingly fine. It was ideal weather for 
trapping, with no new snow to clog the traps 
and interfere with the hunters in their work. 
The atmosphere was transparent and crisp, and 
as it entered the lungs stimulated the body like 
a tonic, giving new life and buoyancy and action 
to the limbs. The sun never ventured far from 
the horizon now and the cold grew steadily more 
intense and penetrating. The river had long 
ago been chained by the mighty Frost King and 
over the earth the snow lay fully six feet deep 
where the wind had not drifted it away. 

A full hour before sunset Dick and Ed, in high 
good humour at the prospect of the holiday they 
had planned, arrived at the river tilt. They 
came together expecting to find Bob and Bill 
awaiting them there, but the shack was empty. 

“ We’ll be havin’ th’ tilt snug an’ warm for th’ 
lads when they comes,” said Dick, as he went 

115 


Ii6 


UNGAVA BOB 


briskly to work to build a fire in the stove. 
‘‘You get some ice t’ melt for th^ tea, Ed. Th’ 
lads’ll be handy t’ gettin’ in now, an’ when they 
comes supper’ll be pipin’ hot for un.” 

Ed took an axe and a pail to the river where 
he chopped out pieces of fine, clear ice with 
which to fill the kettle. When he came back 
Dick had a roaring fire and was busy preparing 
partridges to boil. 

Pretty soon Bill arrived, and they gave him 
an uproarious greeting. It was the first time 
Bill and Ed had met since they came to their 
trails in the fall, and the two friends were as glad 
to see each other as though they had been sepa- 
rated for years. 

“ An’ how be un now. Bill, an’ how’s th’ fur?” 
asked Ed when they were seated. 

“Fine,” replied Bill. “Fur’s been fine th’ 
year. I has more by now ’an I gets all o’ last 
season, an’ one silver too.” 

“ A silver ? An’ be he a good un ? ” 

“Not so bad. He’s a little gray on th’ rump, 
but not enough t’ hurt un much.” 

“Well, now, you be doin’ fine. I finds un not 
so bad, too — about th’ best year I ever has, but 
one. That were twelve year ago, an’ I gets a 


THE TRAGEDY OF THE TRAIL 117 

rare lot o’ fur that year — a rare lot — but I’m not 
catchin’ all of un myself. I gets most of un from 
th’ Injuns.” 

“ An’ how were un doin’ that now ? ” asked Bill. 

“ Now don’t be tellin’ that yarn agin,” broke 
in Dick. ‘‘Sure Bill’s heard un — leastways he 
must ’a’ heard un.” 

“No, I never heard un,” said Bill. 

“ An’ ain’t been missin’ much then. ’Tis just 
one o’ Ed’s yarns, an’ no truth in un.” 

“ ’Tis no yarn. ’Tis true, an’ I could prove un 
by th’ Injuns. Leastways I could if I knew where 
un were, but none o’ that crowd o’ Injuns comes 
this way these days.” 

“ What were the yarn, now?” asked Bill. 

“ I says ’tis no yarn. ’Tis what happened t’ 
me,” asserted Ed, assuming a much injured air. 
“ As I were say in’, ’twere a frosty evenin’ twelve 
year ago. I were cornin’ t’ my lower tilt, an’ 
when I gets handy t’ un what does I see but a 
big band o’ mountaineers around th’ tilt. Th’ 
mountaineers was not always friendly in those 
times as they be now, an’ I makes up my mind 
for trouble. I comes up t’ un an’ speaks t’ un 
pleasant, an’ goes right in th’ tilt t’ see if un be 
takin’ things. I finds a whole barrel o’ flour 


Ii8 


UNGAVA BOB 


missin* an’ comes out at un. They owns up t' 
eatin’ th’ flour, an' they had eat th’ hull barrel 
t’ one meal — now ye mind, one meal. When un 
eats a barrel o’ flour t’ one meal there be a big 
band o’ un. They was so many o’ un I never 
counted. They was like t’ be ugly at first, but I 
looks fierce like, an’ tells un they must gi’ me fur 
t’ pay for un. I was so fierce like I scares un 
— scares un bad. I were one man alone, an’ wi* 
a bold face I had th’ whole band so scared they 
each gives me a marten, an’ I has a flat sled 
load o’ martens from un — handy t’ a hundred 
an’ fifty — an’ if I hadn’t ’a’ been bold an’ scared 
un I’d ’a’ had none. Injuns be easy scared if un 
knows how t’ go about it.” 

Bill laughed and remarked, 

“’Tis sure a fine yarn, Ed. How does un 
look t’ be fierce an’ scare folk ? ” 

A fine yarn ! An’ I tells un ’tis a gospel 
truth, an’ no yarn,” asserted Ed, apparently very 
indignant at the insinuation. 

“ Bob’s late cornin’,” remarked Dick. ** ’Tis 
gettin’ dark.” 

** He be, now,” said Bill, an’ he were sayin* 
he’d be gettin’ here th’ night an’ maybe o’ Mon- 
day night. ’Tis strange.” 


THE TRAGEDY OF THE TRAIL 119 


They ate supper and the evening wore on, 
and no Bob. Bill went out several times to 
listen for the click of snow-shoes, but always 
came back to say, “No sign o’ un yet.” Finally 
it became quite certain that Bob was not coming 
that night. 

“’Tis wonderful queer now, an’ he promised,” 
Bill remarked, at length. “ An’ he brought 
down his fur last trip — a fine lot.” 

“ Where be un ? ” asked Dick. 

Bill looked for the fur. It was nowhere to be 
found, and, mystified and astounded, he ex- 
claimed : “Sure th’ fur be gone! Bob’s an’ 
mine too I ” 

“ Gone 1 ” Dick and Ed both spoke together. 
“ An’ where now ? ” 

“Gone! His an’ mine! ’Twere here when 
we leaves th’ tilt, an’ ’tis gone now ! ” 

The three had risen to their feet and stood 
looking at each other for awhile in silence. 
Finally Dick spoke : 

“ ’Tis what I was fearin’. ’Tis some o’ Micmac 
John’s work. Now where be Bob? Somethin’s 
been happenin’ t’ th’ lad. Micmac John’s been 
doin’ somethin’ wi’ un, an’ we must find un.” 

“We must find un an’ run that devil Injun 


120 


UNGAVA BOB 


down/’ exclaimed Ed, reaching for his adikey. 
We mustn’t be losin’ time about un, neither.” 

** ’Twill be no use goin’ now,” said Dick, with 
better judgment. ‘*Th’ moon’s down an’ we’d 
be missin’ th’ trail in th’ dark, but wi’ daylight 
we must be goin’.” 

Ed hung his adikey up again. “ I were for- 
gettin’ th’ moon were down. We’ll have t’ bide 
here for daylight,” he assented. Then he gritted 
his teeth. “ That Injun’ll have t’ suffer for un if 
he’s done foul wi’ Bob.” 

The remainder of the evening was spent in 
putting forth conjectures as to what had possibly 
befallen Bob. They were much concerned but 
tried to reassure themselves with the thought 
that he might have been delayed one tilt back 
for the night, and that Micmac John had done 
nothing worse than steal the fur. Nevertheless 
their evening was spoiled — the evening they 
had looked forward to with so much pleasure, 
and their minds were filled with anxious 
thoughts when finally they rolled into their 
blankets for the night. 

Christmas morning came with a dead, search- 
ing cold that made the three men shiver as they 
stepped out of the warm tilt long before dawn 


THE TRAGEDY OF THE TRAIL 12 1 


and strode off in single file into the silent, dark 
forest. After a while daylight came, and then 
the sun, beautiful but cheerless, appeared above 
the eastern hills to reveal the white splendour of 
the world and make the frost-hung fir trees and 
bushes scintillate and sparkle like a gem-hung 
fairy-land. But the three men saw none of this. 
Before them lay a black, unknown horror that 
they dreaded, yet hurried on to meet. The air 
breathed a mystery that they could not fathom. 
Their hearts were weighted with a nameless 
dread. 

Their pace never once slackened and not a 
word was spoken until after several hours the 
first tilt came suddenly into view, when Dick 
said laconically : 

No smoke. He's not here.” 

An' no signs o' his bein' on th' trail since th* 
storm,” added Ed. 

‘‘ No footin' t' mark un at all,” assented Dick. 
'' What's happened has happened before th' last 
snow.” 

“ Aye, before th' last snow. 'Twas before th* 
storm it happened.” 

Here they took a brief half hour to rest and 
boil the kettle, and the remainder of that day 


122 


UNGAVA BOB 


and all the next day kept up their tireless, silent 
march. Not a track in the unbroken white was 
there to give them a ray of hope, and every step 
they took made more certain the tragedy they 
dreaded. 

At noon on the third day they reached the last 
tilt. Bill was ahead, and when he pushed the 
door open he exclaimed: "‘Th’ stove’s gone!” 
Then they found the bag that Micmac John had 
left there with the fur in it. 

“Now that’s Micmac John’s bag,” said Ed. 
“ What devilment has th’ Injun been doin’ ? 
Now why did he leave th’ fur ? ’Tis strange — 
wonderful strange.” 

Dick noted the evidences of an open fire hav- 
ing been kindled upon the earthen floor. “ That 
fire were made since th’ stove were taken,” he 
said. “ Micmac John left th’ fur an’ made th’ fire. 
He’s been stoppin’ here a night after Bob left wi’ 
th’ stove. But why were Bob leavin’ wi’ th’ 
stove ? An’ where has he gone ? An’ why has 
th’ Injun been leavin’ th’ fur here an’ not cornin’ 
for un again? We’ll have t’ be findin’ out.” 

They started immediately to search for some 
clue of the missing lad, each taking a different 
direction and agreeing to meet at night in the 


THE TRAGEDY OF THE TRAIL 123 

tilt. Everywhere they looked, but nothing was 
discovered, and, weary and disheartened, they 
turned back with dusk. Dick returned across 
the first lake above the tilt. As he strode along 
one of his snow-shoes pressed upon something 
hard, and he stopped to kick the snow away from 
it. It was a deer^s antler. He uncovered it far- 
ther and found a chain, which he pulled up, dis- 
closing a trap and in it a silver fox, dead and 
frozen stiff. He straightened up and looked 
at it. 

‘*A Christmas present for Bob an^ he never 
got un,’^ he said aloud. “ Th’ lad^s sure perished 
not f be findin’ his silver.'* 

Here was a discovery that meant something. 
Bob had been setting traps in that direction, and 
might have a string of traps farther on. Possibly 
he had gone to put them in order when the 
storm came, and had been caught in it farther 
up, and perished. Anyway it was worth investi- 
gation. When Dick returned with the fox and 
the trap to the tilt he told the others of his theory 
and it was decided to concentrate their efforts in 
that direction in the morning. 

Accordingly the next day they pushed farther 
to the westward across the second lake, and at a 


124 


UNGAVA BOB 


point where a dead tree hung out over the ice 
found fresh axe cuttings. A little farther on they 
saw one or two sapling tops chopped off. These 
were in a line to the northward, and they took 
that direction. Finally they came upon a marsh, 
and heading in the same northerly course across 
it, came upon the tracks of a pack of wolves. 
Looking in the direction from which these led, 
Dick stopped and pointed towards a high boulder 
half a mile to the eastward. 

“ Now what be that black on th’ snow handy 
t’ th’ rock?” he asked. 

“ ’Tis lookin’ t’ me like a flat sled,” said Ed. 

‘‘We’ll have a look at un,” suggested Dick, 
who hurried forward with the others at his heels. 
Suddenly he stopped, and pointed at the beaten 
snow and scattered bones and torn clothing, 
where Micmac John had fought so desperately 
for his life. The three men stood horror stricken, 
their faces drawn and tense. This, then, was the 
solution of the mystery I This was what had 
happened to Bob ! Pretty soon Dick spoke : 

‘‘ Th’ poor lad I Th’ poor lad I An’ th’ wolves 
got un !” 

“An’ his poor mother,” said Ed, choking. 
“ ’Twill break her heart, she were countin’ so on 


THE TRAGEDY OF THE TRAIL 125 

Bob. An^ th^ little maid as is sick — ’twill kill 
she.” 

‘‘Yes,” said Bill, “Emily ’ll be mournin’ her- 
self t’ death wi’out Bob.” 

These big, soft-hearted trappers were all crying 
now like women. No other thought occurred to 
them than that these ghastly remains were Bob’s, 
for the toboggan and things on it were his. 

After a while they tenderly gathered up the 
human remains and placed them upon the tobog - 
gan. Then they picked up the gun and blood 
spattered axe. 

“Now here be another axe on th’ flat sled,” 
said Dick. “What were Bob havin’ two axes 
for?” 

“ ’Tis strange,” said Ed. 

“He must ha’ had one cached in here, an’ 
were bringin’ un back,” suggested Bill, and this 
seemed a satisfactory explanation. 

“I’ll take some pieces o’ th’ clothes. His 
mother ’ll be wantin’ somethin’ that he wore when 
it happened,” said Dick, as he gathered some of 
the larger fragments of cloth from the snow. 

Then with bowed heads and heavy hearts they 
silently retraced their steps to the tilt, hauling the 
toboggan after them. 


126 


UNGAVA BOB 


At the tilt they halted to arrange their future 
course of action. 

‘‘ Now,” said Dick, ‘‘ what’s t’ be done ? ’Twill 
only give pain th’ sooner t’ th’ family t’ go out 
an’ tell un, an’ ’twill do no good. I’m thinkin’ ’tis 
best t’ take th’ remains t’ th’ river tilt an’ not go 
out with un till we goes home wi’ open water.” 

No, I’m not thinkin’ that way,” dissented Ed. 
“Bob’s mother’ll be wantin’ t’ know right off. 
’Tis not right t’ keep it from she, an’ she’ll never 
be forgivin’ us if we’re doin’ it.” 

“ They’s trouble enough down there that they 
knows of,” argued Dick. “ They’ll be thinkin’ 
Bob safe ’an not expectin’ he till th’ open water 
an’ we don’t tell un, an’ between now an’ then 
have so much less t’ worry un, and be so much 
happier ’an if they were knowin’. Folks lives 
only so long anyways an’ troubles they has an’ 
don’t know about is troubles they don’t have, or 
th’ same as not havin’ un, an’ their lives is that 
much happier.” 

“I’m still thinkin’ they’ll be wantin’ t’ know,” 
insisted Ed. “They’ll be plannin’ th’ whole 
winter for Bob’s cornin’ an’ when they’s expectin’ 
him an’ hears he’s dead, ’twill be worse’n bearin’ 
before they expects un. Leastways, they’ll be 


THE TRAGEDY OF THE TRAIL 127 

gettin’ over un th’ sooner they hears, for trouble 
always wears off some wi* passin* time. Tis our 
duty f go an’ tell un nowy Fm thinkin’.” 

“ What’s un think, Bill ? ” asked Dick. 

“ I’m thinkin with Ed, ’tis best t’ go,” said 
Bill, positively. 

“ Well, maybe ’tis — maybe ’tis,” Dick finally 
assented. Now, who’ll be goin’ ? ’Twill be a 
wonderful hard task t’ break th’ news. I’m 
thinkin’ my heart ’d be failin’ me when I gets 
there. Ed, would un mind goin’ ? ” 

Ed hesitated a moment, then he said : 

“ 1 m fearin’ t’ tell th’ mother, but ’tis for some 
one t’ do. ’Tis my duty t’ do un — an’ I’ll be 
goin’.” 

It was finally arranged that Ed should begin 
his journey the following morning, drawing the 
remains on a toboggan, and taking otherwise 
only the tent, a tent stove, and enough food to 
see him through, leaving the remainder of Bob’s 
things to be carried out in the boat in the spring. 
Dick undertook the charge of them as well as 
Bob’s fur. Ed was to take the short cut to the 
river tilt and thence follow the river ice while 
Dick and Bill sprang Bob’s traps on the upper 
end of his path. 


128 


UNGAVA BOB 


But/’ said Bill, after this arrangement was 
made, ‘‘ Bob’s folks be in sore need o’ th’ fur he’d 
be gettin’ an’ when Ed comes back. I’m thinkin’ 
’twould be fine for us not t’ be takin’ rest o’ 
Saturdays but turnin’ right back in th’ trails. 
Ed can be doin’ one tilt o’ your trail, Dick, an’ 
so shortenin’ your trail one tilt so you can do 
two o’ mine an’ I’ll shorten Ed two tilts an’ do 
three o’ Bob’s. I’d be willin’ t’ work Sundays 
an’ I’m thinkin’ th’ Lard wouldn’t be findin’ 
fault o’ me for doin’ un seein’ Emily’s needin’ 
th’ fur t’ go t’ th’ doctor. ’Tis sure th’ Lard 
wouldn’t be gettin’ angry wi’ me for thaty for He 
knows how bad off Emily is.” 

This generous proposal met with the approval 
of all, and details were arranged accordingly 
that evening as to just what each was to do until 
the furring season closed in the spring. 

This was Saturday, December the twenty- 
eighth. On Sunday morning Ed bade good-bye 
to his companions and began the long and 
lonely journey to Wolf Bight with his ghastly 
charge in tow. 


XII 


IN THE HANDS OF THE NASCAUPEES 
ATE on the afternoon of the day that Bob 



fell asleep in the snow, he awoke to new 


and strange surroundings. His first 
conscious moments brought with them a sense of 
comfortable security. His mind had thrown off 
every feeling of responsibility and he knew only 
that he was warm and snugly tucked into bed 
and that the odour of spruce forest and wood 
smoke that he breathed was very pleasant. He 
lay quiet for a time, with his eyes closed, in a 
state of blissful, half consciousness, vaguely real- 
izing these things, but not possessing sufficient 
energy to open his eyes and investigate them or 
question where he was. 

Slowly his mind awoke from its lethargy and 
then he began to remember as a dim, uncer- 
tain dream, his experience of the night before. 
Gradually it became more real but he recalled his 
failure to find the tent, the fearful groping in the 
snow, and his struggle for life against the storm 


UNGAVA BOB 


130 

as something that had happened in the long dis- 
tant past. 

‘‘ But how could all this ha’ been happenin’ t’ 
me now ? ” he asked himself, for here he was snug 
in the tent — or perhaps he had reached the tilt 
and did not remember. 

He ^opened his eyes now for the first time to 
see and satisfy himself as to whether it was the 
tent or the tilt he was in, and what he saw aston- 
ished and brought him to his senses very 
quickly. 

He recognized at once the interior of an Indian 
wigwam. In the centre a fire was burning and 
an Indian woman was leaning over it stirring the 
contents of a kettle. On the opposite side of the 
fire from her sat a young Indian maiden of 
about Bob’s own age netting the babiche in a 
snow-shoe, her fingers plying deftly in and out. 
The woman and girl wore deerskin garments of 
peculiar design. The former was fat and ugly, 
the latter slender, and very comely, he thought, 
from her sleek black hair to her feet encased in 
daintily worked little moccasins. At that mo- 
ment she glanced towards him and said some- 
thing to her companion, who turned in his direc- 
tion also. 


IN THE HANDS OF NASCAUPEES 13 1 


‘‘Where am he asked wonderingly and 
with some alarm. 

They both laughed and jabbered then in their 
Indian tongue but he could not understand a 
word they said. The girl lay aside the snow- 
shoe and babiche and, taking up a tin cup, 
dipped some hot broth from the kettle and 
offered it to him. He accepted it gladly for he 
was thirsty and felt unaccountably weak. The 
broth contained no salt or flavouring of any 
kind, but was very refreshing. When he had 
finished it he put the cup down and attempted 
to rise but this movement brought forth a flood 
of Indian expostulations and he was forced to 
lie quiet again. 

It was very evident that he was either considered 
an invalid to ill too move or was held in bond- 
age. He had never heard that Indian captives 
were tucked into soft deerskin robes and fed 
broth by comely Indian maidens, however, and 
if he were a prisoner it did not promise to be so 
very disagreeable a captivity. 

On the whole it was very pleasant and restful 
lying there on the soft skins of which his bed was 
composed, for he still felt tired and weak. He took 
in every detail of his surroundings. The wig- 


132 


UNGAVA BOB 


warn was circular in form and of good size. It 
was made of reindeer skins stretched over poles 
very dingy and black, with an opening at the 
top to permit the smoke from the fire in the 
centre to escape. Flat stones raised slightly 
above the ground served as a fireplace, and 
around it were thickly laid spruce boughs. Some 
strips of jerked venison hung from the poles 
above, and near his feet he glimpsed his own 
gun and powder horn. 

Bob could see at once that these Indians were 
much more primitive than those he knew at the 
Bay and, unfamiliar as he was with the Indian 
language, he noticed a marked difference in the 
intonation and inflection when the woman spoke. 

“Now,” said Bob to himself, “th’ Nascau- 
pees must ha’ found me an’ these be Nascau- 
pees. But mountaineers an’ every one says 
Nascaupees be savage an’ cruel, an’ I’m not 
knowin’ what un be. ’Tis queer — most wonder- 
ful queer.” 

He had no recollection of lying down in the 
snow. The last he could definitely recall was 
his fearful battling with the storm. There was 
a sort of hazy remembrance of something that 
he could not quite grasp — of having gone to 


IN THE HANDS OF NASCAUPEES 133 

sleep somewhere in a snug, warm bed spread 
with white sheets. Try as he would he could 
not explain his presence in this Indian wigwam, 
nor could he tell how long he had been here. 
It seemed to him years since the morning he left 
the tilt to go on the caribou hunt. 

So he lay for a good while trying to account 
for his strange surroundings until at last he be- 
came drowsy and was on the point of going to 
sleep when suddenly the entrance flap of the 
wigwam opened and two Indians entered — the 
most savage looking men Bob had ever seen — 
and he felt a thrill of fear as he beheld them. 
They were very tall, slender, sinewy fellows, 
dressed in snug fitting deerskin coats reaching 
half way to the knees and decorated with elabo- 
rately painted designs in many colours. Their 
heads were covered with hairy hoods, and the 
ears of the animal from which they were made 
gave a grotesque and savage appearance to the 
wearers. Light fitting buckskin leggings, 
fringed on the outer side, encased their legs, and 
a pair of deerskin mittens dangled from the ends 
of a string which was slung around the neck. 
One of the men was past middle age, the other 
a young fellow of perhaps twenty. 


134 


UNGAVA BOB 


The older woman said something to them and 
they began to jabber in so high a tone of voice 
that Bob would have thought they were quar- 
relling but for the fact that they laughed good- 
naturedly all the time and came right over to 
where he lay to shake his hand. They had a 
good deal to say to him, but he could not under- 
stand one word of their language. After greet- 
ing him both men removed their outer coats and 
hoods, and Bob could not but admire the grace- 
ful, muscular forms that the buckskin under- 
garments displayed. Their hair was long, black 
and straight and around their foreheads was tied 
a thong of buckskin to keep it from falling over 
their faces. 

They laughed at Bob’s inability to understand 
them, and were much amused when he tried to 
talk with them. Every effort was made to put 
him at ease. 

When the men were finally seated, the girl 
dipped out a cup of broth and a dish of venison 
stew from the kettle which she handed to Bob ; 
then the others helped themselves from what re- 
mained. There was no bread nor tea, and noth- 
ing to eat but the unflavoured meat. 

It was quite dark now and the fire cast weird. 


IN THE HANDS OF NASCAUPEES 135 


uncanny shadows on the dimly-lighted interior 
walls of the wigwam. The Indians sitting around 
it in their peculiar dress seemed like unreal in- 
habitants of some spirit world. Bob’s coming 
to himself in this place and amongst these peo- 
ple appealed to him as miraculous — supernatural. 
He could not understand it at all. He began to 
plan an escape. When they were all asleep he 
could steal quietly out and make his way back to 
the tilt. But, then, he reasoned, if they wished to 
detain him they could easily track him in the 
snow in the morning ; and, besides, he did not 
know where his snow-shoes were and without 
them he could not go far. Neither did he know 
how far he was from the tilt. After the Indians 
had found him they may have carried him 
several days’ journey to their camp and whether 
they had gone west or north he had no way of 
finding out. 

It was, therefore, he realized, an unquestion- 
ably hopeless undertaking for him to attempt to 
reach his tilt alone, and he finally dismissed the 
idea as impracticable. Perhaps in the morning 
he could induce them to take him there. That, 
he concluded, was the only plan for him to fol- 
low. So far they had been very kind and he 


136 


UNGAVA BOB 


could see no reason why they should wish to 
detain him against his will. 

The Indians were indeed Nascaupee Indians, 
but instead of being the ruthless cut-throats that 
the mountaineers and the legends of the coast 
had painted them, they were human and hospi- 
table, as all our eastern Indians were before white 
men taught them to be thieves and drove and 
goaded them — by the white man’s own treachery 
— to acts of reprisal and revenge. 

These Nascaupees, living as they did in a coun- 
try inaccessible to the white ravishers, had none 
but kindly motives in their treatment of Bob and 
had no desire to do him harm. On the morning 
that Bob fell in the snow Shish-e-ta-ku-shin — 
Loud- voice — and his son Mo6-koo-mahn — Big 
Knife — had left their wigwam early to hunt. Not 
far away they crossed Bob’s trail. Their practiced 
eye told them that the traveller was not an 
Indian, for the snow-shoes he wore were not of 
Indian make, and also, from the uncertain, 
wobbly trail, they decided that he was far spent. 
So they followed the tracks and within a few 
minutes after Bob had fallen found him. They 
carried him to the wigwam and rubbed his 
frosted limbs and face until it was quite safe to 


IN THE HANDS OF NASCAUPEES 137 

wrap him in the deerskins in the warm wig- 
wam. 

They did not know who he was nor where he 
came from, but they did know that he needed 
care and several days of quiet. He was a 
stranger and they took him in. These poor 
heathens had never heard of Christ or His 
teachings, but their hearts were human. And 
so it was that Bob found himself amongst friends 
and was rescued from what seemed certain 
death. 

When morning came Bob tried in every con- 
ceivable way to make them understand that he 
wished to be taken back, but he found it a quite 
hopeless task. No signs or pantomime could 
make them comprehend his meaning, and it ap- 
peared that he was doomed to remain with 
them. The shock of exposure had been so great 
that he was still very weak and not able to walk, 
as he quickly realized when he tried to move 
about, and he was compelled to remain within 
in the company of the women, in spite of his de- 
sire to go out and reconnoitre. 

Ma-ni-ka-wan, the maiden, took it upon her- 
self to be his nurse. She brought him water to 
bathe his face, which was very sore from frost- 


138 


UNGAVA BOB 


bite, and gave him the choicest morsels from the 
kettle, and made him as comfortable as possible. 

At first he held a faint hope that when Bill 
missed him at the tilt, a search would be made 
for him and his friends would find the wigwam. 
But as the days slipped by he realized that 
he would probably never be discovered. There 
came a fear that the news of his disappearance 
would be carried to Wolf Bight and he dreaded 
the effect upon his mother and Emily. 

But there was one consolation. Emily could go 
to the hospital now and be cured. Bill would find 
the silver fox skin and his share of that and the 
other furs would pay not only his own but his 
father’s debts, he felt sure, as well as all the 
expense of Emily’s treatment by the doctor — 
and a good surplus of cash — how much he 
could not imagine and did not try to calculate — 
for the doctor had said that silver foxes were 
worth five hundred dollars in cash. This 
thought gave him a degree of satisfaction that 
towered so far about his troubles that he almost 
forgot them. 

In a little while he was quite strong and active 
again. Finally a day came when the Indians 
made preparations to move. The wigwam was 


IN THE HANDS OF NASCAUPEES 139 


taken down and with all their belongings packed 
upon toboggans, and under the cold stars of a 
January morning, they turned to the northward, 
and Bob had no other course than to go with 
them even farther from the loved ones and the 
home that his heart so longed to see. 


XIII 


A FOREBODING OF EVIL 

N ever before had Bob been away from 
home for more than a week at a time, 
and his mother and Emily were very 
lonely after his departure in September. They 
missed his rough good-natured presence with the 
noise and confusion that always followed him no 
less than his little thoughtful attentions. They 
forgot the pranks that the overflow of his young 
blood sometimes led him into, remembering only 
his gentler side. He had helped Emily to pass the 
time less wearily, often sitting for hours at a time 
by her couch, telling her stories or joking with her, 
or making plans for the future, and she felt his 
absence now perhaps more than even his mother. 
Many times during the first week or so after his 
going she found herself turning wistfully towards 
the door half expecting to see him enter, at the 
hours when he used to come back from the fish- 
ing, and then she would realize that he was really 
gone away, and would turn her face to the wall, 
140 


\ 


A FOREBODING OF EVIL 


141 

that her mother might not see her, and cry 
quietly in her loneliness. 

Without Bob’s help, Richard Gray was very 
busy now. The fishing season was ended, but 
there was wood to be cut and much to be done 
in preparation for the long winter close at hand. 
He went early each morning to his work, and 
only returned to the cabin with the dusk of even- 
ing. This home-coming of the father was the 
one bright period of the day for Emily, and dur- 
ing the dreary hours that preceded it, she looked 
forward with pleasure and longing to the 
moment when he should open the door, and call 
out to her, 

** An’ how’s my little maid been th’day ? Has 
she been lonesome without her daddy ? ” 

And she would always answer, “ I’s been fine, 
but dreadful lonesome without daddy.” 

Then he would kiss her, and sit down for a 
little while by her couch, before he ate his sup- 
per, to tell her of the trivial happenings out of 
doors, while he caressed her by stroking her 
hair gently back from her forehead. After the 
meal the three would chat for an hour or so 
while he smoked his pipe and Mrs. Gray washed 
the dishes. Then before they went to their rest 


142 


UNGAVA BOB 


he would laboriously read a selection from the 
Bible, and afterwards, on his knees by Emily’s 
couch, thank God for His goodness to them and 
ask for His protection, always ending with the 
petition, 

“ An’, Lard, look after th’ lad an’ keep 
he safe from th’ Nascaupees an’ all harm ; an’ 
heal th’ maid an’ make she well, for. Lard, you 
must be knowin’ what a good little maid she is.” 

Emily never heard this prayer without feeling 
an absolute confidence that it would be answered 
literally, for God was very real to her, and she 
had the complete, unshattered faith of childhood. 

Late in October the father went to his trapping 
trail, and after that was only home for a couple 
of days each fortnight. There was no pleasant 
evening hour now for Emily and her mother to 
look forward to. The men of the bay were all 
away at their hunting trails, and no callers ever 
came to break the monotony of their life, save 
once in a while Douglas Campbell would tramp 
over the ice the eight miles from Kenemish to 
spend an afternoon and cheer them up. 

Emily missed Bob more than ever, since her 
father had gone, but she was usually very patient 
and cheerful. For hours at a time she would 


A FOREBODING OF EVIL 


143 


think of his home-coming, and thrill with the joy 
of it. In her fancy she would see him as he 
would look when he came in after his long ab- 
sence, and in her imagination picture the days 
and days of happiness that would follow while he 
sat by her couch and told her of his adventures 
in the far off wilderness. Once, late in Novem- 
ber, she called her mother to her and asked : 

Mother, how long will it be now an^ Bob 
comes home ? 

‘‘ 'Tis many months till th’ open water, but I 
were .hopin’, dear, that mayhap he’d be cornin’ 
at th’ New Year.” 

“ An’ how long may it be to th’ New Year, 
mother ? ” 

“ A bit more than a month, but ’tis not certain 
he’ll be cornin’ then.” 

'‘’Tis a long while t’ wait — a terrible long 
while t’ be waitin’ — t’ th’ New Year.” 

" Not so long, Emily. Th’ time’ll be slippin’ 
by before we knows. But don’t be countin’ on 
his cornin’ th’ New Year, for ’tis a rare long 
cruise t’ th’ Big Hill trail an’ he may be waitin’ 
till th’ break-up. But I’m thinkin’ my lad’ll be 
wantin’ t’ see how th’ little maid is, — an’ see his 
mother — an’ mayhap be takin’ th’ cruise.” 


144 


UNGAVA BOB 


‘‘ An Bob knew how lonesome we were — how 
wonderful lonesome we were — he’d be cornin’ at 
th’ New Year sure. An’ he’ll be gettin’ lonesome 
hisself. He must be gettin’ dreadful lonesome 
away off in th’ bush this long time I He’ll sure 
be cornin’ at th’ New Year I ” 

After this Emily began to keep account of the 
days as they passed. She had her mother 
reckon for her the actual number until New 
Year’s Eve, and each morning she would say, 
“ only so many days now an’ Bob’ll be cornin’ 
home.” Her mother warned her that it was not 
at all certain he would come then — only a hope. 
But it grew to be a settled fact for Emily, and a 
part of her daily life, to expect and plan for the 
happy time when she should see him. 

Mrs. Gray had not been able to throw off en- 
tirely the foreboding of calamity that she had 
voiced at the time Bob left home. Every morn- 
ing she awoke with a heavy heart, like one bear- 
ing a great weight of sorrow. Before going 
about her daily duties she would pray for the 
preservation of her son and the healing of her 
daughter, and it would relieve her burden some- 
what, but never wholly. The strange Presence 
was always with her. 


A FOREBODING OF EVIL 


145 


One day when Douglas Campbell came over 
he found her very despondent, and he asked : 

‘‘Now what’s troublin’ you, Mary? There’s 
some trouble on yer mind. Don’t be worry in’ 
about th’ lad. He’s as safe as you be. He’ll 
be cornin’ home as fine an’ hearty as ever you 
see him, an’ with a fine hunt.” 

“ I knows the’s no call for th’ worry,” she an- 
swered, “but some ways I has a forebodin’ o’ 
somethin’ evil t’ happen an’ I can’t shake un off. 
I can’t tell what un be. Mayhap Tis th’ maid. 
She’s no better, an’ th’ Lard’s not answerin’ my 
prayer yet t’ give back strength t she an’ make 
she walk.” 

“ ’Twill be all right wi’ th’ maid, now. Th’ 
doctor said they’d be makin’ she well at th’ hos- 
pital.” 

“ But the’s no money t’ send she t’ th’ hospital 
— an’ if she don’t go — th’ doctor said she’d never 
be gettin’ well.” 

“ Now don’t be lettin’ that worry ye, Mary. 
Th’ Lard’ll be findin’ a way t’ send she t’ St. 
Johns when th’ mail boat comes back in th’ 
spring, if that be His way o’ curin she — I knows 
He will. Th’ Lard always does things right an’ 
He’ll be fixin’ it right for th’ maid. He’d not be 


146 


UNGAVA BOB 


lettin^ a pretty maid like Emily go all her life 
wi^out walkin’ — He never would do that. I’m 
thinkin’ He’d a’ found a way afore now if th* mail 
boat had been makin’ another trip before th’ 
freeze up.” 

I’m lackin’ in faith, I’m fearin’. I’m always 
forgettin’ that th’ Lard does what’s best for us 
an’ don’t always do un th’ way we wants He to. 
He’s bidin’ His own time I’m thinkin’, an’ an- 
swerin’ my prayers th’ way as is best.” 

This talk with Douglas made her feel better, 
but still there was that burden on her heart — 
a burden that would not be shaken off. 

All the Bay was frozen now, and white, like 
the rest of the world, with drifted snow. The 
great box stove in the cabin was kept well filled 
with wood night and day to keep out the search- 
ing cold. An inch-thick coat of frost covered the 
inner side of the glass panes of the two windows 
and shut out the morning sunbeams that used to 
steal across the floor to brighten the little room. 
December was fast drawing to a close. 

Richard Gray’s luck had changed. Fur was 
plentiful — more plentiful than it had been for 
years — and he was hopeful that by spring he 
would have enough to pay all his back debt at 


A FOREBODING OF EVIL 


147 


the company store and be on his feet again. 
Two days before Christmas he reached home in 
high good humour, with the pelts he had caught, 
and displayed them with satisfaction to Mrs. 
Gray and Emily — beautiful black otters, martens, 
minks and beavers with a few lynx and a couple 
of red foxes. 

“I’ll be stayin’ home for a fortnight t’ get some 
more wood cut,” he announced. “How’ll that 
suit th’ maid?” 

“ Oh I ’Tis fine I ” cried the child, clapping 
her hands with delight. “An’ Bob’ll be home 
for the New Year an’ we’ll all be havin’ a fine 
time together before you an’ Bob goes away 
again.” 

“ In th’ mornin’ I’ll have t’ be goin’ t’ th’ Post 
wi’ th’ dogs an’ komatik t’ get some things. Is 
there anything yer wantin’, Mary ? ” he asked his 
wife. 

“We has plenty o’ flour an’ molasses an’ tea ; 
but,” she suggested, “th’ next day’s Christmas, 
Richard.” 

“ Aye, I’m thinkin’ o’ un an’ I may be seein’ 
Santa Claus P tell un what a rare fine maid 
Emily’s been an’ ask un not t’ be forgettin’ she. 
He’s been wonderful forgetful not t’ be cornin’ 


148 UNGAVA BOB 

round last Christmas an^ th’ Christmas before 
ril have t’ be remindin’ he.” 

Emily looked up wistfully. 

“An’ you are thinkin’ he’ll have time t’ come 
here wi’ all th’ places t’ go to ? Oh, I’m wishin’ 
he would I ” 

“ I’ll just make un — I’ll just make un,” said her 
father. “I’ll not let un pass my maid every time.” 

Emily was awake early the next morning — be- 
fore daybreak. Her father was about to start for 
the Post, and the dogs were straining and jump- 
ing in the traces. She knew this because she 
could hear their expectant howls, — and the dogs 
never howled just like that under any other cir- 
cumstances. Then she heard “hoo-ett — hoo-ett” 
as he gave them the word to be off and, in the 
distance, as he turned them down the brook to 
the right his shouts of “ ouk I ouk I ouk I — ouk J 
ouk ! ouk ! ” 

It was a day of delightful expectancy. To- 
morrow would be Christmas and perhaps — per- 
haps — Santa Claus would come I She chattered 
all day to her mother about it, wondering if he 
would really come and what he would bring her. 

Finally, just at nightfall she heard her father 
shouting at the dogs outside and presently he 


A FOREBODING OF EVIL 


149 


came in carrying his komatik box, his beard 
weighted with ice and his clothing white with 
hoar frost. 

‘‘Well,” announced he, as he put down the 
box and pulled his adikey over his head, “ I were 
seein’ Santa Claus th’ day an' givin' he a rare 
scoldin' for passin’ my maid by these two year — 
a rare scoldin’ — an' I’m thinkin' he'll not be 
passin' un by this Christmas. He'll not be 
wantin' another such scoldin'.” 

“Oh I” said Emily, “’twere too bad t' scold 
un. He must be havin’ a wonderful lot o’ places 
t' go to an’ he's not deservin' t' be scolded now. 
He’s sure doin’ th' best he can — I knows he's doin' 
th' best he can.” 

“ He were deservin' of un, an' more. He were 
passin' my maid two year runnin' an' I can't be 
havin' that,” insisted the father as he hung up 
his adikey and stooped to open the komatik box, 
from which he extracted a small package which 
he handed to Emily saying, “ Somethin' Bessie 
were sendin'.” 

“ Look ! Look, mother ! ” Emily cried ex- 
citedly as she undid the package and discovered 
a bit of red ribbon ; “ a hair ribbon an' — an' a 
paper with some writin' I ” 


150 


UNGAVA BOB 


Mrs. Gray duly examined and admired the 
gift while Emily spelled out the message. 





** Oh, an* Bessie*s fine t* be rememberin* me ! ** 
said she, adding regretfully, “ Fm wishin* Fd been 
sendin* she somethin* but I hasn*t a thing t* send.** 

“Aye, Bessie*s a fine lass,** said her father. 
“ She sees me comin* an* runs down t* meet me, 
an* asks how un be, an* if we* re hearin* e*er a 
word from Bob. An* I tells she Emily*s fine an* 
we*re not bearin’ from Bob, but are thinkin* un 
may be comin* home for th* New Year. An* 
then Bessie says as she’s wantin’ t* come over at 
th* New Year t* visit Emily.” 

“ An* why weren’t you askin’ she t* come back 
with un th* day ? ** asked Mrs. Gray. 

“ Oh, I wish she had I ** exclaimed Emily. 

“I were askin’ she,” he explained, “but she 
were thinkin* she’d wait till th* New Year. Her 
mother’s rare busy th* week wi* th* men all in 
from th’ bush, an* needin’ Bessie’s help.” 

“ An* how’s th’ folk findin* th* fur ? ” asked 
Mrs. Gray as she poured the tea. 


A FOREBODING OF EVIL 


151 

“Wonderful fine. Wonderful fine with all un 
as be in.** 

“ An* I*m glad t* hear un. *Twill be givin* th* 
folk a chance t* pay th* debts. Th* two bad sea- 
sons must ha* put most of un in a bad way for 
debt.** 

“ Aye, *twill that. An* now we* re like t* have 
two fine seasons. *Tis th* way un always runs.** 

“ ’Tis th* Lard’s way,” said Mrs. Gray rever- 
ently. 

“ The’s a band o* Injuns come th* day,” added 
Richard Gray, “ an* they reports fur rare plenty 
inside, as *tis about here. An* I’m thinkin* 
Bob’ll be doin’ fine his first year in th* bush,” 

“ Oh, I’m hopin’ — I’m hopin’ so — for th* lad’s 
sake an* Emily’s. *Tis how th* Lard’s makin* a 
way for th* brave lad t’ send Emily t* th* doctor 
— an* he comes back safe.” 

“ I were askin’ th* mountaineers had they seen 
Nascaupee footin’, an’ they seen none. They’re 
sayin* th* Nascaupees has been keepin* t* th* 
nuth’ard th* winter, an* we’re not t* fear for th* 
lad.” 

“ Thank th* Lard ! ” exclaimed Mrs. Gray. 
“ Thank th* Lard ! An* now that’s relievin’ my 
mind wonderful — relievin’ — it — wonderful.” 


152 


UNGAVA BOB 


There was an added earnestness to Richard 
Gray’s expressions of thanksgiving when he 
knelt with his wife by their child’s couch for 
family worship that Christmas eve, and there was 
an unwonted happiness in their hearts when they 
went to their night’s rest. 


XIV 


THE SHADOW OF DEATH 

T he kettle was singing merrily on the 
stove, and Mrs. Gray was setting the 
breakfast table, when Emily awoke on 
Christmas morning. Her father was just com- 
ing in from out-of-doors bringing a breath of the 
fresh winter air with him. 

“ A Merry Christmas,” he called to her. “ A 
Merry Christmas t’ my maid ! ” 

“And did Santa Claus come?” she asked, 
looking around expectantly. 

“ Santa Claus ? There now ! ” he exclaimed, 
“an* has th* old rascal been forgettin’ t’ come 
again ? Has you seen any signs o* Santa Claus 
bein* here ? ** he asked of Mrs. Gray, as though 
thinking of it for the first time. Then, turning 
towards the wall back of the stove, he exclaimed, 
“ Ah ! Ah I an* what’s this f ** 

Emily looked, and there, sitting upon the 
shelf, was a doll I 

“ Oh I Oh, th* dear little thing I ** she cried. 
“ Oh, let me have un I ** 

153 


154 


UNGAVA BOB 


Mrs. Gray took it down and handed it to her, 
and she hugged it to her in an ecstasy of delight. 
Then she held it off and looked at it, and hugged 
again, and for very joy she wept. It was only 
a poor little rag doll with face and hair gro- 
tesquely painted upon the cloth, and dressed in 
printed calico — but it was a doll — a real one — 
the first that Emily had ever owned. It had 
been the dream of her life that some day she 
might have one, and now the dream was a 
blessed reality. Her happiness was quite beyond 
expression as she lay there on her bed that 
Christmas morning pressing the doll to her 
breast and crying. Poverty has its seasons of 
recompense that more than counterbalance all the 
pleasures that wealth can buy, and this was one 
of those seasons for the family of Richard Gray. 

Presently Emily stopped crying, and through 
the tears came laughter, and she held the toy 
out for her father and mother to take and ex- 
amine and admire. 

A little later Mrs. Gray came from the closet 
holding a mysterious package in her hand. 

‘‘ Now what be this f ’Twere in th’ closet an^ 
looks like somethin^ more Santa Claus were 
leavin’.’’ 


THE SHADOW OF DEATH 


155 

“ Well now 1 exclaimed Richard, what may 
that be ? Open un an’ we’ll see.” 

An investigation of its contents revealed a 
couple of pounds of sugar, some currants, raisins 
and a small can of butter. 

‘‘ Santa Claus were wantin’ us t’ have a plum 
puddin’ Pm thinkin’,” said Mrs. Gray, as she ex- 
amined each article and showed it to Emily. 

An’ we’re t’ have sugar for th’ tea and butter 
for th’ bread. But th’ puddin’s not t’ get all th’ 
raisins. Emily’s t’ have some t’ eat after we has 
breakfast.” 

Dinner was a great success. There were roast 
ptarmigans stuffed with fine-chopped pork and 
bread, and the unwonted luxuries of butter and 
sugar — and then the plum pudding served with 
molasses for sauce. That was fine, and Emily 
had to have two helpings of it. If Bob had been 
with them their cup of happiness would have 
been filled quite to the brim, and more than once 
Emily exclaimed : 

‘‘Now if Bob was only here I” And several 
times during the day she said, “I’m just wishifU 
t’ show Bob my pretty doll — an’ won’t he be glad 
t’ see un I ” 

The report from the Mountaineer Indians that 


156 


UNGAVA BOB 


no Nascaupees had been seen had set at rest 
their fears for the lad’s safety. The apprehension 
that he might get into the hands of the Nascau- 
pees had been the chief cause of worry, for they 
felt full confidence in Bob’s ability to cope with 
the wilderness itself. 

The day was so full of surprises and new sensa- 
tions that when bedtime came Emily was quite 
tired out with the excitement of it all, and was 
hardly able to keep awake until the family wor- 
ship was closed. Then she went to sleep with 
the doll in her arms. 

The week from Christmas till New Year passed 
quickly. Richard Gray was at home, and this 
was a great treat for Mrs. Gray and Emily, and 
with several of their neighbours who lived within 
ten to twenty miles of Wolf Bight driving over 
with dogs to spend a few hours — for most of the 
men were home from their traps for the holi- 
days — ^the time was pretty well filled up. 
Emily’s doll was a never failing source of amuse- 
ment to her, and she always slept with it in her 
arms. 

Over at the Post it was a busy week for Mr. 
MacDonald and his people, for all the Bay hunt- 
ers and Indians had trading to do, and most of 


THE SHADOW OF DEATH 


157 


them remained at least one night to gossip and 
discuss their various prospects and enjoy the 
hospitality of the kitchen ; and then there was a 
dance nearly every night, for this was their 
season of amusement and relaxation in the 
midst of the months of bitter hardships on the 
trail. 

Bessie and her mother had not a moment to 
themselves, with all the extra cooking and clean- 
ing to be done, for it fell upon them to provide 
for every one ; and it became quite evident to 
Bessie that she could not get away for her pro- 
posed visit to Wolf Bight until the last of the 
hunters was gone. This would not be until the 
day after New Year’s, so she postponed her re- 
quest to her father, to take her over, until New 
Year’s day. Then she watched for a favourable 
opportunity when she was alone with him and 
her mother. Finally it came late in the after- 
noon, when he stepped into the house for some- 
thing, and she asked him timidly : 

** Father, I’m wantin’ t’ go on a cruise t’ Wolf 
Bight — ^t’ see Emily — can’t you take me over 
with th’ dogs an’ komatik ? ” 

“ When you wantin’ t’ go, lass ? ” he asked. 

“ I’m wishin’ t’ be goin’ to-morrow.” 


158 


UNGAVA BOB 


“ rm be wonderful busy for a few days. 
Can’t un wait a week or two ? ” 

‘‘ I’m wantin’ t’ go now, father, if I goes. I’m 
not wantin’ t’ wait.” 

“ Bob’s t’ be home,” suggested Mrs. Blake. 

“ Oh, ho I I see 1 ” he exclaimed. “ ’Tisn’t 
Bob instead o’ Emily you’re wantin’ so wonder- 
ful bad t’ see now, is un ? ” 

‘‘’Tis — Emily — I’m wantin’ — t’ — see,” faltered 
Bessie, blushing prettily and fingering the hem 
of her apron in which she was suddenly very 
much interested. 

“Bob’s a fine lad — a fine lad — an’ I’m not 
wonderin’,” said her father teasingly. 

“Now, Tom,” interceded Mrs. Black, “don’t 
be tormentin’ Bessie. O’ course ’tis just Emily 
she’s wantin’ t’ see. She’s not thinkin’ o’ th’ 
lads yet.” 

“ Oh, aye,” said he, looking slyly out of the 
corner of his eye at Bessie, who was blushing 
now to the very roots of her hair, “ I’m not 
blamin’ she for likin’ Bob. I likes he myself.” 

“ Well, Tom, be tellin’ th’ lass you’ll take she 
over. She’s been kept wonderful close th’ win- 
ter, an’ the cruise ’ll be doin’ she good,” urged 
Mrs. Black. 


THE SHADOW OF DEATH 


159 


“ I wants t’ go so much/’ Bessie pleaded. 

“ Well, ril ask Mr, MacDonald can he spare 
me th’ day. I’m thinkin’ ’twill be all right,” he 
finally assented. 

And it was all right. When the last hunter 
had disappeared the next morning, the komatik 
was got ready. A box made for the purpose 
was lashed on the back end of it, and warm rein- 
deer skins spread upon the bottom for Bessie to 
sit upon. Then the nine big dogs were called 
by shouting Ho ! Ho ! Ho ! ” to them, and were 
caught and harnessed, after which Tom cracked 
a long walrus-hide whip over their heads, and 
made them lie quiet until Bessie was tucked 
snugly in the box, and wrapped well in deerskin 
robes. 

When at last all was ready the father stepped 
aside with his whip, and immediately the dogs 
were up jumping and straining in their harness 
and giving short impatient howls, over eager to 
be away. Tom grasped the front end of the 
komatik runners, pulled them sharply to one 
side to break them loose from the snow to which 
they were frozen, and instantly the dogs were off 
at a gallop running like mad over the ice with 
the trailing komatik in imminent danger of turn- 


i6o 


UNGAVA BOB 


ing over when it struck the ice hummocks that 
the tide had scattered for some distance out from 
the shore. 

Presently they calmed down, however, to a jog 
trot, and Tom got off the komatik and ran by its 
side, guiding the team by calling out ouk ” 
when he wanted to turn to the right and “ rud- 
der^’ to turn to the left, repeating the words 
many times in rapid succession as though trying 
to see how fast he could say them. The head 
dog, or leader, always turned quickly at the 
word of command, and the others followed. 

It was a very cold day — fifty degrees below 
zero Mr. MacDonald had said before they 
started — and Bessie’s father looked frequently to 
see that her nose and cheeks were not freezing, 
for a traveller in the northern country when not 
exercising violently will often have these parts of 
the face frozen without knowing it or even feel- 
ing cold, and if the wind is blowing in the face is 
pretty sure to have them frosted anyway. 

Most of the snow had drifted off the ice, and 
the dogs had a good hard surface to travel upon, 
and were able to keep up a steady trot. They 
made such good time that in two hours they 
turned into Wolf Bight, and as they approached 


THE SHADOW OF DEATH i6i 

the Grays’ cabin broke into a gallop, for dogs 
always like to begin a journey and end it with a 
flourish of speed just to show how fast they can 
go, no matter how slowly they may jog along 
between places. 

The dogs at Wolf Bight were out to howl de- 
fiance at them as they approached and to indulge 
in a free fight with the newcomers when they ar- 
rived, until the opposing ones were beaten apart 
with clubs and whips. It is a part of a husky 
dog’s religion to fight whenever an excuse offers, 
and often when there is no excuse. 

Richard and Mrs. Gray came running out to 
meet Tom and Bessie, and Bessie was hurried 
into the cabin where Emily was waiting in ex- 
cited expectancy to greet her. Mrs. Gray bustled 
about at once and brewed some hot tea for the 
visitors and set out a luncheon of bread for 
them. 

“ Now set in an’ have a hot drink t’ warm un 
up,” said she when it was ready. “ You must be 
most froze, Bessie, this frosty day.” 

“ I were warm wrapped in th’ deerskins, an’ 
not so cold,” Bessie answered. 

“ We were lookin’ for Bob these three days,” 
remarked Mrs. Gray as she poured the tea. 


i 62 


UNGAVA BOB 


“We were thinkin' he’d sure be gettin’ lonesome 
by now, an’ be makin’ a cruise out.” 

“ ’Tis a long cruise from th’ Big Hill trail unless 
he were needing somethin’,” suggested Tom, 
taking his seat at the table. 

“ Aye,” assented Richard, “ an’ I’m thinkin’ th’ 
lad’ll not be wantin’ t’ lose th’ time ’twill take t’ 
come out. He’ll be biding inside t’ make th’ most 
o’ th’ huntin’, an’ th’ fur be plenty.” 

“That un will,” agreed Tom, “an’ ’twould 
not be wise for un t’ be losin’ a good three 
weeks o’ huntin’. Bob’s a workin’ lad, an’ 
I’m not thinkin’ you’ll see he till open water 
comes.” 

“ Oh,” broke in Emily, “ an’ don’t un really 
think Bob’s t’ come ? I been wishin’ so for un, 
an’ ’twould be grand t’ have he come while Bes- 
sie’s here.” 

“ Bessie’s thinkin’ ’twould too,” said Tom, who 
could not let pass an opportunity to tease his 
daughter. 

They all looked at Bessie, who blushed furi- 
ously, but said nothing, realizing that silence was 
the best means of diverting her father’s attention 
from the subject, and preventing his further re- 
marks. 


THE SHADOW OF DEATH 163 


Well ril have t’ be goinV’ said Tom pres- 
ently, pushing back from the table. 

“ Oh, sit down, man, an’ bide a bit. There’s 
nothin’ t’ take un back so soon. Bide here th’ 
night, can’t un ? ” urged Richard. 

I were sayin’ t’ Mr. MacDonald as I’d be back 
t’ th’ post th’ day, so promisin’ I has t’ go.” 

** Aye, an’ un promised, though I were hopin’ 
t’ have un bide th’ night.” 

‘‘When’ll I be cornin’ for un, Bessie?” asked 
Tom. 

“Oh, Bessie must be bidin’ a plead 
Emily. “I’ve been wishin’ t’ have she so much. 
Please be leavin’ she a long time.” 

“Mother’ll be needin’ me I’m thinkin’ in a 
week,” said Bessie, “though I’d like t’ bide* 
longer.” 

“Your mother’ll not be needin’ un, now th’ 
men’s gone. Bide wi’ Emily a fortnight,” her 
father suggested. 

“ I’ll take th’ lass over when she’s wantin’ t’ 
go,” said Richard. “ ’Tis a rare treat t’ Emily t’ 
have she here, an’ th’ change’ll be doin’ your lass 
good.” 

Sd it was agreed, and Tom drove away. 

It was a terrible disappointment to Emily and 


164 


UNGAVA BOB 


her mother that Bob did not come, but Bessie’s 
visit served to mitigate it to some extent, and her 
presence brightened the cabin very much. 

No one knew whether or not Bob’s failure to 
appear was regretted by Bessie. That was her 
secret. However it may have been, she had a 
splendid visit with Mrs. Gray and Emily, and the 
days rolled by very pleasantly, and when Richard 
Gray left for his trail again on the Monday morn- 
ing following her arrival the thought that Bessie 
was with th’ little maid ” gave him a sense of 
quiet satisfaction and security that he had not felt 
when he was away from them earlier in the 
winter. 

When Douglas Campbell came over one morn- 
ing a week after Bessie’s arrival he found the 
atmosphere of gloom that he had noticed on his 
earlier visits had quite disappeared. Mrs. Gray 
seemed contented now, and Emily was as happy 
as could be. 

Douglas remained to have dinner with them. 
They had just finished eating and he had settled 
back to have a smoke before going home, admir- 
ing a new dress that Bessie had made for Emily’s 
doll, and talking to the child, while Mrs. Gray 
and Bessie cleared away the dishes, when the 


THE SHADOW OF DEATH 165 


door opened and Ed Matheson appeared on the 
threshold. 

Ed stood in the open door speechless, his face 
haggard and drawn, and his tall thin form bent 
slightly forward like a man carrying a heavy bur- 
den upon his shoulders. 

It was not necessary for Ed to speak. The 
moment Mrs. Gray saw him she knew that he 
was the bearer of evil news. She tottered as 
though she would fall, then recovering herself she 
extended her arms towards him and cried in 
agony : 

‘‘ Oh, my lad I My lad ! What has happened 
to my lad I ” 

“Bob — Bob” — faltered Ed, “th’ — wolves — got 
— un.” 

He had nerved himself for this moment, and 
now the spell was broken he sat down upon a 
bench, and with his elbows upon his knees and 
his face in his big weather-browned hands, cried 
like a child. 

Emily lay white and wild-eyed. She could not 
realize it all or understand it. It seemed for a 
moment as though Mrs. Gray would faint, and 
Bessie, pale but self-possessed, supported her to 
a seat and tried gently to soothe her. 


i66 


UNGAVA BOB 


Douglas, too, did what he could to comfort, 
though there was little that he could do or say to 
relieve the mother’s grief. 

At first Mrs. Gray simply moaned, “ My lad — 

my lad — my lad ” upbraiding herself for ever 

letting him go away from home; but finally 
tears — the blessed safety-valve of grief — came 
and washed away the first effects of the shock. 

Then she became quite calm, and insisted 
upon hearing every smallest detail of Ed’s story, 
and he related what had happened step by step, 
beginning with the arrival of himself and Dick 
at the river tilt on Christmas eve and the discov- 
ery that Bob’s furs had been removed, and 
passed on to the finding of the remains by the 
big boulder in the marsh, Mrs. Gray interrupting 
now and again to ask a fuller explanation here 
and there. 

When Ed told of gathering up the fragments 
of torn clothing, she asked to see them at once. 
Ed hesitated, and Douglas suggested that she 
wait until a later time when her nerves were 
steadier ; but she was determined, and insisted 
upon seeing them without delay, and there was 
nothing to do but produce them. Contrary to 
their expectations, she made no scene when they 


THE SHADOW OF DEATH 167 

were placed before her, and though her hand 
trembled a little was quite collected as she took 
up the blood-stained pieces of cloth and examined 
them critically one by one. Finally she raised 
her head and announced : 

“ None o’ them were ever a part o’ Bob’s 
clothes,” 

“ Whose now may un be if not Bob’s ? ” asked 
Ed, sceptical of her decision. 

“ None of un were BoVs. I were makin’ all o’ 
Bob’s clothes, an’ — I — knows : I knowsy^ she in- 
sisted. 

“ But th’ flat sled were Bob’s, an’ th’ tent an’ 
other things,” said Ed. 

Th’ clothes were not Bob’s — an’ Bob were not 
killed by wolves — my lad is livin’ — somewheres 
— I feels my lad is livin’,” she asserted. 

Then Ed told of the two axes found — one on 
the toboggan and the other on the snow — and 
Mrs. Gray raised another question. 

“ Why,” she asked, ** had he two axes ? ” 

It was explained that he had probably taken 
one in on a previous trip and cached it. But 
she argued that if he needed an axe going in on 
the previous trip he must have needed it coming 
out too, and it was not likely that he would have 


I68 


UNGAVA BOB 


cached it. Besides, she was quite sure that he 
had but one axe with him in the bush, as there 
was no extra axe for him to take when he was 
leaving home ; and Douglas said that when he 
left the trail at the close of the previous season 
he had left no axe in any of the tilts. 

“ Richard ^11 know un when he comes,” said 
she. “ Richard’ll know Bob’s axe.” 

The mother was still more positive now that 
the remains they had found were not Bob’s re- 
mains, and Ed and Douglas, though equally pos- 
itive that she was mistaken, let her hold the hope 
— or rather belief — that Bob still lived. She as- 
serted that he was alive as one states a fact that 
one knows is beyond question. The circumstan- 
tial evidence against her theory was strong, but 
a woman’s intuition stands not for reason, and 
her conclusions she will hold against the world. 

I must be takin’ th’ word in t’ Richard though 
’tis a sore trial t’ do it,” said Douglas, preparing 
at once to go. “ I’ll be findin’ un on th’ trail. 
Keep courage, Mary, until we comes. ’Twill be 
but four days at furthest,” he added as he was 
going out of the door. 

Ed left immediately after for his home, to 
spend a day or two before returning to his in- 


THE SHADOW OF DEATH 


169 


land trail, and Mrs. Gray and Emily and Bessie 
were left alone again in a gloom of sorrow that 
approached despair. 

That night long after the light was out and 
they had gone to bed, Mrs. Gray, who was still 
lying awake with her trouble, heard Emily softly 
speak ; 

Mother.^^ 

She stole over to Emily’s couch and kissed the 
child’s cheek. 

“ Mother, an’ th’ wolves killed Bob, won’t he 
be an angel now ? ” 

** Bob’s livin’ — somewheres — child, an’ I’m 
prayin’ th’ Lard in His mercy t’ care of th’ lad. 
Th’ Lard knows where un is, lass, an’ th’ Lard’ll 
sure not be forgettin’ he.” 

“ But,” she insisted, “ he’s an angel now z/ th’ 
wolves killed un ? ” 

Yes, dear.” 

An’ th’ Lard lets angels come sometimes t’ 
see th’ ones they loves, don’t He, mother?” 

** Be quiet now, lass.” 

‘‘ But He does ? ” persisted the child. 

“Aye, He does.” 

“ Then if Bob were killed, mother, he’ll sure be 
cornin’ t’ see us. His angel’d never be restin’ 


170 


UNGAVA BOB 


easy in heaven wi’out cornin’ t’ see us, for he 
knows how sore we longs t’ see un.” 

The mother drew the child to her heart and 
sobbed. 


XV 


IN THE WIGWAM OF SISHETAKUSHIN 

D ay after day the Indians travelled to the 
northward, drawing their goods after 
them on toboggans, over frozen rivers 
and lakes, or through an ever scantier growth of 
trees. With every mile they traversed Bob’s 
heart grew heavier in his bosom, for he was con- 
stantly going farther from home, and the pros- 
pect of return was fading away with each sunset. 
He knew that they were moving northward, for 
always the North Star lay before them when 
they halted for the night, and always a wilder, 
more unnatural country surrounded them. 
Finally a westerly turn was taken, and he won- 
dered what their goal might be. 

Cold and bitter was the weather. The great 
limitless wilderness was frozen into a deathlike 
silence, and solemn and awful was the vast ex- 
panse of white that lay everywhere around them. 
They, they alone, it seemed, lived in all the 
dreary world. The icy hand of January had 
crushed all other creatures into oblivion. No 
171 f 


172 


UNGAVA BOB 


deer, no animals of any kind crossed their trail. 
Their food was going rapidly, and they were 
now reduced to a scanty ration of jerked venison. 

At last they halted one day by the side of a 
brook and pitched their wigwam. Then leaving 
the women to cut wood and put the camp in or- 
der, the two Indians shouldered their guns and 
axes, and made signs to Bob to follow them, 
which he gladly did. 

They ascended the frozen stream for several 
miles, when suddenly they came upon a beaver 
dam and the dome-shaped house of the animals 
themselves, nearly hidden under the deep cover- 
ing of snow. The house had apparently been 
located earlier in the season, for now the Indians 
went directly to it as a place they were familiar 
with. 

Here they began at once to clear away the 
snow from the ice at one side of the house, using 
their snow-shoes as shovels. When this was 
done, a pole was cut, and to the end of the pole 
a long iron spike was fastened. With this im- 
provised implement Sishetakushin began to pick 
away the ice where the snow had been cleared 
from it, while Mookoomahn cut more poles. 

Though the ice was fully four feet thick 




“It was dangerous work” 


WIGWAM OF SISHETAKUSHIN 173 

Sishetakushin soon reached the water. Then 
the other poles that Mookoomahn had cut were 
driven in close to the house. 

Bob understood that this was done to prevent 
the escape of the animals, and that they were 
closing the door, which was situated so far down 
that it would always be below the point where 
ice would form, so that the beavers could go in 
and out at will. 

After these preparations were completed the 
Indians cleared the snow from the top of the 
beaver house, and then broke an opening into 
the house itself. Into this aperture Sishetakushin 
peered for a moment, then his hand shot down, 
and like a flash reappeared holding a beaver by 
the hind legs, and before the animal had recov- 
ered sufflciently from its surprise to bring its 
sharp teeth into action in self-defense, the Indian 
struck it a stinging blow over the head and killed 
it. Then in like manner another animal was 
captured and killed. It was dangerous work 
and called for agility and self-possession, for had 
the Indian made a miscalculation or been one 
second too slow the beaver's teeth, which crush 
as well as cut, would have severed his wrist or 


arm. 


174 


UNGAVA BOB 


There were two more beavers — a male and a 
female — in the house, but these were left undis- 
turbed to raise a new family, and the stakes that 
had closed the door were removed. 

This method of catching beavers was quite 
new to Bob, who had always seen his father and 
the other hunters of the Bay capture them in 
steel traps. It was his first lesson in the Indian 
method of hunting. 

That evening the flesh of the beavers went 
into the kettle, and their oily tails — the greatest 
tidbit of all — were fried in a pan. The Indians 
made a feast time of it, and never ceased eating 
the livelong night. This day of plenty came in 
cheerful contrast to the cheerless nights with 
scanty suppers following the weary days of plod- 
ding that had preceded. The glowing fire in 
the centre, the appetizing smell of the kettle and 
sizzling fat in the pan, and the relaxation and 
mellow warmth as they reclined upon the boughs 
brought a sense of real comfort and content. 

The next day they remained in camp and 
rested, but the following morning resumed the 
dreary march to the westward. 

After many more days of travelling — Bob had 
lost all measure of time — they reached the shores 


WIGWAM OF SISHETAKUSHIN 175 


of a great lake that stretched away until in the 
far distance its smooth white surface and the sky 
were joined. The Indians pointed at the ex- 
panse of snow-covered ice, and repeated many 
times, “ Petitsikapau — Petitsikapau,^* and Bob 
decided that this must be what they called the 
lake ; but the name was wholly unfamiliar to 
him. In like manner they had indicated that a 
river they had travelled upon for some distance 
farther back, after crossing a smaller lake, was 
called “ Ashuanipi,” but he had never heard of it 
before. 

The wigwam was pitched upon the shores of 
Petitsikapau Lake, where there was a thick 
growth of willows upon the tender tops of 
which hundreds of ptarmigans — the snow-white 
grouse of the arctic — were feeding ; and rabbits 
had the snow tramped flat amongst the under- 
brush, offering an abundance of fresh food to 
the hunters, a welcome change from the un- 
varied fare of dried venison. 

Bob drew from the elaborate preparations that 
were made that they were to stop here for a con- 
siderable time. Snow was banked high against 
the skin covering of the wigwam to keep out 
the wind more effectually, an unusually thick 


176 


UNGAVA BOB 


bed of spruce boughs was spread within, and a 
good supply of wood was cut and neatly piled 
outside. 

The women did all the heavy work and 
drudgery about camp, and it troubled Bob not a 
little to see them working while the men were 
idle. Several times he attempted to help them, 
but his efforts were met with such a storm of 
protestations and disapproval, not only from the 
men, but the women also, that he finally re- 
frained. 

“ ’Tis strange now th’ women isn’t wantin’ t’ 
be helped,” Bob remarked to himself. “ Mother’s 
always likin’ t’ have me help she.” 

It was quite evident that the men considered 
this camp work beneath their dignity as hunters, 
and neither did they wish Bob, to whom they 
had apparently taken a great fancy, to do the 
work of a squaw. They had, to all appearances, 
accepted him as one of the family and treated 
him in all respects as such, and, he noted this 
with growing apprehension, as though he were 
always to remain with them. 

They began now to initiate him into the mys- 
teries of their trapping methods, which were 
quite different from those with which he was ac- 


WIGWAM OF SISHETAKUSHIN 177 


customed. Instead of the steel trap they used 
the deadfall — wa-nee-gan — and the snare — nug- 
wah-gun — and Bob won the quick commenda- 
tion and plainly shown admiration of the Indians 
by the facility with which he learned to make 
and use them, and his prompt success in captur- 
ing his fair share of martens, which were fairly 
numerous in the woods back of the lake. 

But when he took his gun and shot some 
ptarmigans one day, they gave him to under- 
stand that this was a wasteful use of ammuni- 
tion, and showed him how they killed the birds 
with bow and arrow. To shoot the arrows 
straight, however, was an art that he could not 
acquire readily, and his efforts afforded Sishe- 
takushin and Mookoomahn much amusement. 

‘‘ The’s no shootin* straight wi* them things,’^ 
Bob declared to himself, after several unsuccess- 
ful attempts to hit a ptarmigan. “ Leastways 
Fm not knowin* how. But th^ Injuns is shootin^ 
un fine, an^ Fm wonderin^ now how they does 
un.’^ 

With no one that could understand him Bob 
had unconsciously dropped into the habit of 
talking a great deal to himself. It was not very 
satisfactory, however, and there were always 


178 


UNGAVA BOB 


questions arising that he wished to ask. He 
had, therefore, devoted himself since his advent 
amongst the Indians to learning their language, 
and every day he acquired new words and 
phrases. Manikawan would pronounce the 
names of objects for him and have him repeat 
them after her until he could speak them cor- 
rectly, laughing merrily at his blunders. 

It does not require a large vocabulary to make 
oneself understood, and in an indescribably 
short time Bob had picked up enough Indian to 
converse brokenly, and one day, shortly after the 
arrival at Petitsikapau he found he was able to 
explain to Sishetakushin where he came from 
and his desire to return to the Big Hill trail and 
the Grand River country. 

** It is not good to dwell on the great river of 
the evil spirits ’’ (the Grand River), said the In- 
dian. “ Be contented in the wigwam of your 
brothers.” 

Bob parleyed and plead with them, and when 
he finally insisted that they take him back to the 
place where they had found him, he was met 
with the objection that it was ‘‘ many sleeps 
towards the rising sun,” that the deer had left the 
land as he had seen for himself, and if they 


WIGWAM OF SISHETAKUSHIN 179 

turned back their kettle would have no flesh and 
their stomachs would be empty. 

We are going,” said Sishetakushin, where 
the deer shall be found like the trees of the 
forest, and there our brother shall feast and be 
happy.” 

So Bob^s last hope of reaching home vanished. 

Manika wan’s kindness towards him grew, and 
she was most attentive to his comfort. She 
gave him the first helping of “ nab-wi ” — stew — 
from the kettle, and kept his clothing in good 
repair. His old moccasins she replaced with 
new ones fancifully decorated with beads, and 
his much-worn duffel socks with warm ones 
made of rabbit skins. Everything that the wil- 
derness provided he had from her hand. But 
still he was not happy. There was an always 
present longing for the loved ones in the little 
cabin at Wolf Bight. He never could get out 
of his mind his mother’s sad face on the morn- 
ing he left her, dear patient little Emily on her 
couch, and his father, who needed his help so 
much, working alone about the house or on the 
trail. And sometimes he wondered if Bessie 
ever thought of him, and if she would be sorry 
when she heard he was lost. 


i8o 


UNGAVA BOB 


“ Manikawan ah’ all th’ Injuns be wonderful 
kind, but ’tis not like bein’ home,” he would often 
say sadly to himself when he lay very lonely at 
night upon his bed of boughs and skins. 

At first Manikawan’ s attentions were rather 
agreeable to Bob, but he was not accustomed to 
being waited upon, and in a little while they be- 
gan to annoy him and make him feel ill at ease, 
and finally to escape from them he rarely ever 
remained in the wigwam during daylight hours. 

“I’m wishin’ she’d not be troublin’ wi’ me so 
— I’m not wantin’ un,” he declared almost petu- 
lantly at times when the girl did something for 
him that he preferred to do himself. 

Mornings he would wander down through the 
valley attending to his deadfalls and snares, and 
afternoons tramp over the hills in the hope of 
seeing caribou. 

. One afternoon two weeks after the arrival at 
Petitsikapau he was skirting a precipitous hill 
not far from camp, when suddenly the snow gave 
way under his feet and he slipped over a low 
ledge. He did not fall far, and struck a soft 
drift below, and though startled at the unex- 
pected descent was not injured. When he got 
upon his feet again he noticed what seemed a 


WIGWAM OF SISHETAKUSHIN i8i 


rather peculiar opening in the rock near the foot 
of the ledge, where his fall had broken away the 
snow, and upon examining it found that the crev- 
ice extended back some eight or ten feet and 
then broadened into a sort of cavern. 

** Tis a strange place t’ be in th’ rocks,^* he 
commented. “ Fm thinkin’ Fll have a look at 
un.” 

Kicking off his snow-shoes and standing his 
gun outside he proceeded to crawl in on all 
fours. When he reached the point of broaden- 
ing he found the cavern within so dark that he 
could see nothing of its interior, and he advanced 
cautiously, extending one arm in front of him 
that he might not strike his head against pro- 
truding rocks. All at once his hand came in 
contact with something soft and warm. He drew 
it back with a jerk, and his heart stood still. He 
had touched the shaggy coat of a bear. He was 
in a bear’s den and within two feet of the sleep- 
ing animal. He expected the next moment to 
be crushed under the paws of the angry beast, 
and was quite astonished when he found that it 
had not been aroused. 

Cautiously and noiselessly Bob backed quickly 
out of the dangerous place. The moment he 


i 82 


UNGAVA BOB 


was out and found himself on his feet again with 
his gun in his hands his courage returned, and 
he began to make plans for the capture of the 
animal. 

‘‘ ’Twould be fine now t’ kill un an’ ’twould 
please th’ Injuns wonderful t’ get th’ meat,” he 
said. “ I’m wonderin’ could I get un — if ’tis a 
bear.” 

He stooped and looked into the cave again, 
but it was as dark as night in there, and he could 
see nothing of the bear. Then he cut a long 
pole with his knife and reached in with it until he 
felt the soft body. A strong prod brought forth 
a protesting growl. Bruin did not like to have 
his slumbers disturbed. 

“ Sure His a bear an’ that’s wakenin’ un,” he 
commented. 

Bob prodded harder and the growls grew 
louder and angrier. 

“ He’s not wantin’, t’ get out o’ bed,” said Bob 
prodding vigorously. 

Finally there was a movement within the den, 
and Bob sprang back and made ready with his 
gun. He had barely time to get into position 
when the head of an enormous black bear ap- 
peared in the cave entrance, its eyes flashing fire 


WIGWAM OF SISHETAKUSHIN 183 

and showing fight. Bob’s heart beat excitedly, 
but he kept his nerve and took a steady aim. The 
animal was not six feet away from him when he 
fired. Then he turned and ran down the hill, 
never looking behind until he was fully two hun- 
dred yards from the den and realized that there 
was no sound in the rear. 

The bear was not in sight and he cautiously 
retraced his steps until he saw the animal lying 
where it had fallen. The bullet had taken it 
squarely between the eyes and killed it instantly. 
This was the first bear that Bob had ever killed 
unaided and he was highly elated at his suc- 
cess. 

It was not an easy task to get the carcass out 
of the rock crevice, but he finally accomplished 
it and outside quickly skinned the bear and cut 
the meat into pieces of convenient size to haul 
away on a toboggan when he should return for 
it. Then, with the skin as a trophy, he trium- 
phantly turned towards camp. 

Night had fallen when he reached the wigwam 
and Sishetakushin and Mookoomahn had al- 
ready arrived after their day’s hunt. It was a 
proud moment for Bob when he entered the 
lodge and threw down the bear skin for their in- 


184 


UNGAVA BOB 


spection. They spread it out and examined it 
and a great deal of talking ensued. Bob, in the 
best Indian he could command, explained where 
he had found the ‘‘ mushku ” and how he had 
killed it, and his story was listened to with intense 
interest. When he was through Sishetakushin 
said that the “ Snow Brother,^ ^ as they called Bob, 
was a great hunter, and should be an Indian ; 
for only an Indian would have the courage to at- 
tack a bear in its den single handed. Bob had 
risen very perceptibly in their estimation. All 
doubt of his skill and prowess as a hunter had 
been removed. He had won a new place, and 
was now to be considered as their equal in the 
chase. 

The following morning the two Indians as- 
sisted Bob to haul the bear’s meat to camp. No 
part of it was allowed to waste. In the wigwam 
it was thawed and then the flesh stripped from 
the bones, and that not required for immediate 
use was permitted to freeze again that it might 
keep sweet until needed. The skull was 
thoroughly cleaned and fastened to a high branch 
of a tree as an offering to the Manitou. Sishe- 
takushin explained to Bob that unless this was 
done the Great Spirit would punish them by 


WIGWAM OF SISHETAKUSHIN 185 


driving all other bears beyond the reach of their 
guns and traps in future. 

For several days a storm had been threatening, 
and that night it broke with all the terrifying fury 
of the north. The wind shrieked through the 
forest and shook the wigwam as though it would 
tear it away. The air was filled with a swirling, 
blinding mass of snow and any one venturing a 
dozen paces from the lodge could hardly have 
found his way back to it again. For three days 
the storm lasted, and the Indians turned these 
three days into a period of feasting. A big ket- 
tle of bear’s meat always hung over the fire, and 
surrounding it pieces of the meat were impaled 
upon sticks to roast. It seemed to Bob as though 
the Indians would never have enough to eat. 

Finally the storm cleared, and then it was dis- 
covered that the ptarmigans and rabbits, which 
had been so plentiful and constituted their chief 
source of food supply, had disappeared as if by 
magic. Not a ptarmigan fluttered before the 
hunter, and no rabbit tracks broke the smooth 
white snow beneath the bushes. 

The jerked venison was gone and the only food 
remaining was the bear meat. A hurried consul- 
tation was held, and it was decided to push on still 


I86 


UNGAVA BOB 


farther to the northward in the hope of meeting 
the invisible herds of caribou that somewhere in 
those limitless, frozen barrens were wandering 
unmolested. 


XVI 


ONE OF THE TRIBE 

I F Bob Gray had held any secret hope that 
the Indians would eventually listen to his 
plea to guide him back to the Big Hill trail 
it was mercilessly swept away by the next move, 
for again they faced steadily towards the north. 
Whenever he thought of home a lump came into 
his throat, but he always swallowed it bravely 
and said to himself : 

‘‘ ^Tis wrong now t’ be grievin’ when I has so 
much t’ be thankful for. Bill’ll be takin’ th’ silver 
fox an’ other fur out, and when father sells un 
’twill pay for Emily’s goin’ t’ th’ doctor. Th’ 
Lard saved me from freezin’, an’ I’m well an’ th’ 
Injuns be wonderful good t’ me. Maybe some 
time they’ll be goin’ back th’ Big Hill way — 
maybe ’twill be next winter — an’ then I’ll be 
gettin’ home.” 

In this manner the hope of youth always con- 
quered, and his desperate situation was to some 

extent forgotten in the pictures he drew for him- 
187 


i88 


UNGAVA BOB 


self of his reunion with the loved ones in the 
uncertain “ Sometime ” of the future. 

On and on they travelled through the endless, 
boundless white, over wind-swept rocky hills so 
inhospitably barren that even the snow could not 
find a lodgment on them, or over wide plains 
where the few trees that grew had been stunted 
and gnarled into mere shrubs by winter blasts. 
On every hand the mountains began to raise 
their ragged austere heads like grim giant sen- 
tinels placed there to guard the way. Finally 
they turned into a pass, which brought them, on 
the other side of the ridge it led through, to a 
comparatively well-wooded valley down which a 
wide river wound its way northward. The trees 
were larger than any Bob had seen since leaving 
the Big Hill trail, and this new valley seemed al- 
most familiar to him. 

As they emerged from the pass a wolf cry. 
long and weird, came from a distant mountain- 
side and broke the wilderness stillness, which 
had become almost insufferable, and to the lad 
even this wild cry held a note of companionship 
that was pleasant to hear after the long and death- 
like quiet that had prevailed. 

They took to the river ice and travelled on it for 


ONE OF THE TRIBE 1B9 

several miles when, rounding a bend, they sud- 
denly came upon a cluster of half a dozen deer- 
skin wigwams standing in the spruce trees just 
above the river bank. An Indian from one of the 
lodges discovered their approach, and gave a 
shout. Instantly men, women and children sprang 
into view and came running out to welcome them. 
It was a curious, medley crowd. The men were 
clad in long, decorated deerskin coats such as 
Sishetakushin and Mookoomahn wore, and the 
women in deerskin skirts reaching a little way 
below the knees, and all wearing the fringed 
buckskin leggings. 

The greeting was cordial and noisy, everybody 
shaking hands with the new arrivals, talking in 
the high key characteristic of them, and laughing 
a great deal. Two of the men embraced Sishe- 
takushin and Mookoomahn and shed copious 
tears of joy over them. These two men it ap- 
peared were Mookoomahn's brothers. The 
women were not so demonstrative, but showed 
their delight in a ceaseless flow of words. 

When the first greetings were over Sishetaku- 
shin t 5 ld the assembled Indians how Bob had 
been found sleeping in the snow, and that the 
Great Spirit had sent the White Snow Brother 


190 


UNGAVA BOB 


to dwell in their lodges as one of them. After 
this introduction and a rather magnified descrip- 
tion of his accomplishments as a hunter they all 
shook Bob’s hand and welcomed him as one of 
the tribe. 

A few caribou had been killed, and the travel- 
lers received gifts of the frozen meat with a good 
proportion of fat, and that night a great feast 
was held in their behalf. 

With plenty to eat there was no occasion to 
hunt and the Indians were living in idleness dur- 
ing the intensely cold months of January and 
February, rarely venturing out of the wigwams. 
This was not only for their comfort, but be- 
cause the fur bearing animals lie quiet during 
this cold period of the winter and the hunt would 
therefore yield small reward for the exposure and 
suffering it would entail. 

They had an abundance of tobacco and tea. 
Sishetakushin and his family had been without 
these luxuries, and it seemed to Bob that he had 
never tasted anything half so delicious as the 
first cup of tea he drank. His Indian friends 
could not understand at first his refusal of their 
proffered gifts of ‘‘ stemmo ” — tobacco — but he 
told them finally that it would make him sick. 


ONE OF THE TRIBE 


191 

and then they accepted his excuse and laughed 
at him good naturedly. 

Manikawan had never ceased her attentions to 
Bob, and the others of her family seemed to 
have come to an understanding that it was 
her especial duty to look after his comfort. 
From the first she had been much troubled that 
he had only his cloth adikey instead of a deer- 
skin coat such as her father and Mookoomahn 
wore, and she often expressed her regret that 
there was no deerskin with which to make him 
one. He insisted at these times that his adikey 
was quite warm enough, but she always shook 
her head in dissent, for she could not believe it, 
and would say. 

No, the Snow Brother is cold. Manikawan 
will make him warm clothes when the deer are 
found.” 

On the very night of their arrival at the camp 
she went amongst the wigwams and begged 
from the women some skins of the fall killing, 
tanned with the hair on, with the flesh side as 
fine and white and soft as chamois. In two days 
she had manufactured these into a coat and had 
it ready for decoration. It was a very handsome 
garment, sewn with sinew instead of thread, and 


192 


UNGAVA BOB 


having a hood attached to it similar to the hoods 
worn by Sishetakushin and Mookoomahn. 

With brushes made from pointed sticks she 
painted around the bottom of the coat a 
foot-wide border in intricate design, introducing 
red, blue, brown and yellow colours that she had 
compounded herself the previous summer from 
fish roe, minerals and oil. Other decorations and 
ornamentations were drawn upon the front and 
arms of the garment before she considered it 
quite complete. Then she surveyed her work 
with commendable pride, and with a great show 
of satisfaction presented it and a pair of the 
regulation buckskin leggings to Bob. She was 
quite delighted when he put his new clothes on, 
and made no secret of her admiration of his im- 
proved appearance. 

“ Now,” she said, “ the brother is dressed as 
becomes him and looks very fine and brave.” 

“ Tis fine an’ warm,” Bob assented, “ an’ I’m 
thinkin’ I’m lookin’ like an Injun sure enough.” 

Bob’s aversion to Manikawan’s attentions 
was wearing off, and he was taking a new inter- 
est in her. He very often found himself looking 
at her and admiring her dark, pretty face and 
tall, supple form. Sometimes she would glance 


ONE OF THE TRIBE 


193 


up quickly and catch him at it, and smile, for it 
pleased her. Then he would feel a bit foolish 
and blush through the tan on his face ; for he 
knew that she read his thoughts. But neither he 
nor Manikawan ever voiced the admiration that 
they felt for each other. 

Bob was lounging in the wigwam one day a 
week or so after the arrival at the camp when he 
heard some one excitedly shouting, 

“Atuk ! Atuk ! 

He grabbed his gun and ran outside where he 
met Sishetakushin rushing in from an adjoining 
wigwam. The Indian called to him to leave his 
gun behind and get a spear and follow. He 
could see that something of great moment had 
occurred and he obeyed. 

The Indians from the lodges, all armed with 
spears, were running towards a knoll just below 
the camp, and Bob and Sishetakushin and 
Mookoomahn joined them. When they reached 
the top of the knoll Bob halted for a moment in 
astonishment. Never before had he beheld any- 
thing to compare with what he saw below. A 
herd of caribou containing hundreds — yes thou- 
sands — like a great living sea, was moving to the 
eastward. 


194 


UNGAVA BOB 


Some of the Indians were already running 
ahead on their snow-shoes to turn the animals 
into the deep snowdrifts of a ravine, while the 
other attacked the herd with their spears from 
the side. The caribou changed their course 
when they saw their enemies, and plunged into 
the ravine, those behind crowding those in front, 
which sank into the drifts until they were quite 
helpless. From every side the Indians rushed 
upon the deer and the slaughter began. Bob 
was carried away with the excitement of the 
hunt, and many of the deer fell beneath his spear 
thrusts. The killing went on blindly, indiscrimi- 
nately, without regard to the age or sex or num- 
ber killed, until finally the main herd extricated 
itself and ran in wild panic over the river ice and 
out of reach of the pursuers. 

In the brief interval between the discovery of 
the deer and the escape of the herd over four 
hundred animals had fallen under the ruthless 
spears. When Bob realized the extent of the 
wicked slaughter he was disgusted with himself 
for having taken part in it. 

“’Twas wicked t’ kill so many of un when 
we’re not needin’ un, an’ I hopes th’ Lard’ll for- 
give me for helpin’,” he said contritely. 


ONE OF THE TRIBE 


195 


Aside from the inhumanity of the thing, it was 
a terrible waste of food, for it would only be pos- 
sible to utilize a comparatively small proportion 
of the meat of the slaughtered animals. Perhaps 
seventy-five of the carcasses were skinned, after 
which the flesh was stripped from the bones and 
hung in thin slabs from the poles inside the wig- 
wams to dry. The tongues were removed from 
all the slaughtered animals, for they are consid- 
ered a great delicacy by the Indians ; and some 
of the leg bones were taken for the marrow they 
contained. The great bulk of the meat, how- 
ever, was left for the wolves and foxes, or to rot 
in the sun when summer came. 

The deer killing was followed by a season of 
feasting, as is always the case amongst the In- 
dians after a successful hunt. In every wigwam 
a kettle of stewing venison was constantly hang- 
ing, night and day over the fire, and marrow 
bones roasting in the coals, and for several days 
the men did nothing but eat and smoke and 
drink tea. 

It was, however, a busy time for the women. 
Besides curing the meat and tongues, they ren- 
dered marrow grease from the bones and put it 
up neatly in bladders for future use ; and it fell 


196 UNGAVA BOB 

to their lot, also, to dress and tan the hides into 
buckskin. 

The passing deer herds brought in their wake 
packs of big gray and black timber wolves, 
and the country was soon infested with these 
animals. At night their howls were heard, and 
they came boldly to the scene of the caribou 
slaughter and fattened upon the discarded car- 
casses of the animals. Now and again one was 
shot. With plenty to eat, they were, however, 
comparatively harmless, and never molested the 
camp. 

February was drawing to a close when one 
day Sishetakushin, Mookoomahn and two other 
Indians packed their toboggans preparatory to 
going on an excursion. Bob noticed the prep- 
arations with interest, and inquired the meaning 
of them. 

** The tea and tobacco are nearly gone, and we 
are in need of powder and ball,” Sishetakushin 
answered. 

To get these things Bob knew they must go to 
a trading post, and here, he decided, was a pos- 
sible opportunity for him to find a means of 
reaching home. He asked the Indians at once 
for permission to accompany them. There was 




Saw her standing in the bright moonlight’ 



ONE OF THE TRIBE 


197 


no objection to this from any of them, though 
they told him it would be a tiresome journey, 
that they would travel fast, and be back in a few 
days. 

But Bob did not propose to let any chance of 
meeting white men pass him, and he hurriedly 
got his things together for the expedition. He 
had no intimation of the name or location of the 
post they were going to further than that the 
Indians told him they were going to Mr. Mac- 
Pherson, who was, he felt sure, a Hudson’s Bay 
Company Factor, and he believed that if he 
could once reach one of the company’s forts a 
way would be shown him to get to Eskimo Bay. 
That night was one of excitement and anticipa- 
tion for Bob. 

Manikawan seemed to read his thoughts, for 
the whole evening she looked troubled, and her 
eyes were wet when Bob said good-bye to her in 
the morning. As the little party turned down 
upon the river ice, he looked back once and saw 
her standing near the wigwam, in the bright 
moonlight, her slender figure outlined against 
the snow, and he waved his hand to her. 

He never knew that for many days afterwards, 
when the dusk of evening came, she stole alone 


198 


UNGAVA BOB 


out of the wigwam and down the trail where he 
had disappeared to watch for his return, nor how 
lonely she was and how she brooded over his 
loss when she knew that she should never see 
her White Brother of the Snow again. 


XVII 


STILL FARTHER NORTH 

B ob and the Indians travelled in single file, 
with Mookoomahn leading, and kept to 
the wide, smooth pathway that marked 
the place where the river lay imprisoned beneath 
ice a fathom thick. The wind had swept away 
the loose snow and beaten down that which re- 
mained into a hard and compact mass upon the 
frozen river bed, making snow-shoeing here much 
easier than in the spruce forest that lay behind 
the willow brush along the banks. The Indians 
walked with the long rapid stride that is peculiar 
to them, and which the white man finds hard to 
simulate, and good traveller though he was Bob 
had to adopt a half run to keep their pace. They 
drew but two lightly loaded toboggans, and un- 
encumbered by the wigwam and other heavy 
camp equipment, and with no trailing squaws to 
hamper their speed, an even, unbroken gait was 
maintained as mile after mile slipped behind 
them. 

Not a breath of air was stirring, and the abso- 
199 


200 


UNGAVA BOB 


lute quiet that prevailed was broken only by the 
moving men and the rhythmic creak, creak of 
the snow-shoes as they came in contact with the 
hard packed snow. 

The very atmosphere seemed frozen, so intense 
was the cold. The moon like a disk of burnished 
silver set in a steel blue sky cast a weird, metallic 
light over the congealed wilderness. The hoar 
frost that lay upon the bushes along the river 
bank sparkled like filmy draperies of spun silver, 
and transformed the bushes into an unearthly 
multitude of shining spirits that had gathered 
there from the dark, mysterious forest which lay 
behind them, to watch the passing strangers. 
Presently the light of dawn began to diffuse itself 
upon the world, and the spirit creations were re- 
placed by substantial banks of frost-encrusted 
willows. In a little while the sun peeped timor- 
ously over the eastern hills, but, half obscured by 
a haze of frost flakes which hung suspended in 
the air, gave out no warmth to the frozen earth. 

No halt was made until noon. Then a fire 
was built and a kettle of ice was melted and tea 
brewed. Bob was hungry, and the jerked veni- 
son, with its delicate nutty flavour, and the hot tea, 
were delicious. The latter, poured boiling from 


STILL FARTHER NORTH 


201 


the kettle, left a sediment of ice in the bottom of 
the tin cup before it was drained, so great was 
the cold. 

After an hour’s rest they hit the trail again and 
never relaxed their speed for a moment until 
sunset. Then they sought the shelter of the 
spruce woods behind the river bank, and in a 
convenient spot for a fire cleared a circular space, 
several feet in circumference, by shovelling the 
snow back with their snow-shoes, forming a high 
bank around their bivouac as a protection from the 
wind, should it rise. At one side a fire was built, 
and in front of the fire a thick bed of boughs 
spread. While the others were engaged in these 
preparations Bob and Sishetakushin cut a supply 
of wood for the night. 

It was quite dark before they all settled them- 
selves around the fire for supper. Two frying 
pans were now produced, and from a haunch of 
venison, frozen as hard as a block of wood, thin 
chips were cut with an axe, and with ample pieces 
of fat were soon sizzling in the pans and filling 
the air with an appetizing odour, and in spite of 
the bleak surroundings the place assumed a de- 
gree of comfort and hospitality. 

After supper the Indians squatted around the 


202 


UNGAVA BOB 


fire on deerskins spread upon the boughs, smok- 
ing their pipes and telling stories, while Bob re- 
clined upon the soft robes that Manikawan had 
thoughtfully provided him with, watching the 
light play over their dark faces framed in long 
black hair, and thought of the Indian girl and 
wondered if he was always to live amongst them, 
and if he would ever become accustomed to their 
wild, rude life. 

Finally they lay down close together, with their 
feet towards the fire, and wrapped their heads 
and shoulders closely in the skins, leaving their 
moccasined feet uncovered, to be warmed by the 
blaze, and the lad was soon lost in dreams of the 
snug cabin at Wolf Bight. Once during the night 
he awoke and arose to replenish the fire. The 
stars were looking down upon them, cold and 
distant, and the wilderness seemed very solemn 
and quiet when he resumed his place amongst 
the sleeping Indians. 

They were on their way again by moonlight 
the following morning. Shortly after daybreak 
they turned out of the river bed and towards noon 
came upon some snow-shoe tracks. A little later 
they passed a steel trap, in which a white arctic 
fox struggled for freedom. They halted a mo- 


STILL FARTHER NORTH 


203 


ment for Sishetakushin to press his knee upon its 
side to kill it and then went on. The fox he left 
in the trap, however, for the hunter to whom it be- 
longed. This was the first steel trap that Bob 
had seen since coming amongst the Indians and 
he drew from its presence here that they must 
be approaching a trading station where traps 
were obtainable and in use by the hunters. 

In the middle of the afternoon they turned into 
a komatik track, and Bob’s heart gave a bound 
of joy. 

“Sure we’re gettin’ handy t’ th’ coast!” he ex- 
claimed. 

They would soon find white men, he was sure. 
The track led them on for a mile or so, and then 
they heard a dog’s howl and a moment later 
came out upon two snow igloos. Eskimo 
men, women, and children emerged on their 
hands and knees from the low, snow-tunnel en- 
trance of the igloos at their approach, but when 
they saw that the travellers were a party of In- 
dians, gave no invitation to them to enter, and 
said nothing until Bob called “ Oksunie ” to them 
— a word of greeting that he had learned from 
the Bay folk. Then they called to him “ Oksunie, 
oksunie,” and began to talk amongst themselves. 


204 


UNGAVA BOB 


“They’re rare wild lookin’ huskies,” thought 
Bob. 

As much as Bob would have liked to stop, he 
did not do so, for the Indians stalked past at a 
rapid pace, never by word or look showing that 
they had seen the igloos or the Eskimos. 

These new people, particularly the women, 
who wore trousers and carried babies in large 
hoods hanging on their backs, did not dress like 
any Eskimos that Bob had ever seen before. Nor 
had he ever before seen the snow houses, though 
he had heard of them and knew what they were. 
The dogs, too, were large, and more like wolves 
in appearance than those the Bay folk used, and 
the komatik was narrower but much longer and 
heavier than those he was accustomed to. He 
was surely in a new and strange land. 

More igloos were seen during the afternoon, 
but they were passed as the first had been, and at 
night the party bivouacked in the open as they 
had done the night before. 

On the morning of the third day they passed 
into a stretch of barren, treeless, rolling country, 
and before midday turned upon a well-beaten 
komatik trail, which they followed for a couple of 
miles, when it swung sharply to the left towards 


STILL FARTHER NORTH 


205 


the river, and as they turned around a ledge of 
rocks at the top of a low ridge a view met Bob 
that made him shout with joy, and hasten his pace. 

At his feet, in the field of snow, lay a post of 
the Hudson^s Bay Company. 


XVIII 


A MISSION OF TRUST 

A S Bob looked down upon the white- 
washed buildings of the Post, his sensa- 
tion was very much like that of a ship- 
wrecked sailor who has for a long time been 
drifting hopelessly about upon a trackless sea in 
a rudderless boat, and suddenly finds himself 
safe in harbour. The lad had never seen any- 
thing in his whole life that looked so comfortable 
as that little cluster of log buildings with the 
smoke curling from the chimney tops, and the 
general air of civilization that surrounded them. 
He did not know where he was, nor how far 
from home ; but he did know that this was the 
habitation of white men, and the cloud of utter 
helplessness that had hung over him for so long 
was suddenly swept away and his sky was clear 
and bright again. 

A man clad in a white adikey and white mole- 
skin trousers emerged from one of the buildings, 

paused for a moment to gaze at Bob and his 
206 


A MISSION OF TRUST 


207 

companions as they approached, and then re- 
entered the building. 

As they descended the hill the Indians turned 
to an isolated cabin which stood somewhat apart 
from the main group of buildings and to the 
eastward of them, but Bob ran down to the one 
into which the man had disappeared. His heart 
was all a flutter with excitement and expectancy. 
As he approached the door, it suddenly opened, 
and there appeared before him a tall, middle- 
aged man with full, sandy beard and a kindly 
face. Bob felt intuitively that this was the fac- 
tor of the Post, and he said very respectfully, 

“ Good day, sir.” 

“Good day, good day,” said the man. “I 
thought at first you were an Indian. Come in.” 

Bob entered and found himself in the trader’s 
office. At one side were two tables that served 
as desks, and on a shelf against the wall behind 
them rested a row of musty ledgers and account 
books. Benches in lieu of chairs surrounded a 
large stove in the centre. 

“ Take off your skin coat and sit down,” in- 
vited the trader, who was, indeed, Mr. Mac- 
Pherson of whom the Indians had told. 

“ Thank you, sir,” said Bob. 


2o8 


UNGAVA BOB 


When he was finally seated Mr. McPherson 
asked : 

“ That was Sishetakushin’s crowd you came 
with, wasn’t it ? ” 

“Yes, sir,” Bob answered. 

“ Where did you hail from ? It’s something 
new to see a white man come out of the bush 
with the Indians.” 

“ From Eskimo Bay, sir, an’ what place may 
this be ? ” 

“ Eskimo Bay I Eskimo Bay I Why, this is 
Ungava I How in the world did you ever get 
across the country ? What’s your name ? ” 

“ My name’s Bob Gray, sir, an’ I lives at Wolf 
Bight.” Then Bob went on, prompted now and 
again by the factor’s questions, to tell the story of 
his adventures. 

“Well,” said Mr. MacPherson, “you’ve had a 
wonderful escape from freezing and death and a 
remarkable experience. You’d better go over to 
the men’s house and they’ll put you up there. 
Come back after you’ve had dinner and we’ll talk 
your case over. The dinner bell is ringing now,” 
he added, as the big bell began to clang. “ Per- 
haps I’d better go over with you and show you 
the way.” 


A MISSION OF TRUST 


209 


The men’s house, as the servants’ quarters 
were called, was a one-story log house but a few 
steps from the office. As Bob and Mr. Mac- 
Pherson entered it, a big man with a bushy red 
beard, and a tall brawny man with chean shaven 
face, both perhaps twenty-five or thirty years of 
age, and both with “ Scot ” written all over their 
countenances, were in the act of sitting down to 
an uncovered table, while an ugly old Indian hag 
was dishing up a savory stew of ptarmigan. 

Bob’s eye took in a plate heaped high with 
white bread in the centre of the table and he 
mentally resolved that it should not be there 
when he had finished dinner. 

“ Here’s some company for you,” announced 
the factor. “Ungava Bob just ran over from 
Eskimo Bay to pay us a visit. Take care of 
him. This,” continued he by way of introduc- 
tion, indicating the red-headed man, “ is Eric the 
Red, our carpenter, and this,” turning to the 
other, ‘‘ is the Duke of Wellington, our black- 
smith. Fill up, Ungava Bob, and come over to 
the office and have a talk when you’ve finished 
dinner.” 

“ Sit doon, sit doon,” said the red- whiskered 
man, adding, as Mr. MacPherson closed the door 


210 


UNGAVA BOB 


behind him, “ my true name’s Sandy Craig and 
th’ blacksmith here is Jamie Lunan. Th’ boss 
ha’ a way o’ namin’ every mon t’ suit hisself. 
Now, what’s your true name, lad ? ’Tis not Un- 
gava Bob.” 

“ Bob Gray, an’ I comes from Wolf Bight.” 

“Now, where can Wolf Bight be?” asked 
Sandy. 

“ In Eskimo Bay, sir.” 

“ Aye, aye, Eskimo Bay. ’Tis a lang way ye 
are from Eskimo Bay I Th’ ship folk tell o’ Es- 
kimo Bay a many hundred miles t’ th’ suthard. 
An’ Jamie an’ me be a lang way fra’ Petherhead. 
Be helpin’ yesel’ now, lad. Ha’ some partridge 
an’ ye maun be starvin’ for bread, eatin’ only th’ 
grub o’ th’ heathen Injuns this lang while,” said 
he, passing the plate, and adding in apology, 
“ ’Tis na’ such bread as we ha’ in auld Scotland. 
Injun women canna make bread wi’ th’ Scotch 
lassies an’ we ne’er ha’ a bit o’ oatmeal or oat- 
cake. ’Tis bread, though. An’ how could ye 
live wi’ th’ Injuns ? ’Tis bad enough t’ bide 
here wi’ na’ neighbours but th’ greasy huskies 
an’ durty Injuns cornin’ now an’ again, but we 
has some civilized grub t’ eat — sugar an’ 
molasses an’ butter, such as ’tis.” 


A MISSION OF TRUST 


2II 


Sandy and Jamie plied Bob with all sorts of 
questions about Eskimo Bay and his life with the 
Indians, and they did not fail to tell him a good 
deal about Peterhead, their Scotland home, and 
both bewailed loudly the foolish desire for ad- 
venture that had induced them to leave it to be 
exiled in Ungava amongst the heathen Eskimos 
and Indians in a land where “ nine minths o’ th’ 
year be winter an’ th’ ither three remainin’ 
minths infested wi’ th’ worst plagues o’ Egypt, 
referrin’ t’ th’ flies an’ nippers (mosquitoes).” 

Strange and new it all was, and while he ate 
and talked. Bob took in his surroundings. The 
room was not unlike the Post kitchen at Eskimo 
Bay, though not so spotlessly clean. Besides 
the table there were two benches, four rough, 
home-made chairs and a big box stove that 
crackled cheerily. At one side three bunks were 
built against the wall and were spread with 
heavy woollen blankets. Two chests stood near 
the bunks and several guns rested upon pegs 
against the wall. Upon ropes stretched above 
the stove numerous duflel socks and mittens 
hung to dry. The Indian woman passed in and 
out through a passageway that led from the side 
of the room opposite the door at which he had 


212 


UNGAVA BOB 


entered and her kitchen was evidently on the 
other side of the passageway. 

Bob did not forget his resolution as to the 
bread, to which was added the luxury of butter, 
and more than once the Indian woman had to 
replenish the plate. When they arose from the 
table Jamie pointed out to Bob the bunk that he 
was to occupy. Then, while they smoked their 
pipes, they gossiped about the Post doings until 
the bell warned them that it was time to return 
to their work. 

In accordance with Mr. MacPherson^s instruc- 
tions Bob walked over to the factor’s office 
where he found a young man of eighteen or 
nineteen years of age writing at one of the 
desks. 

** Sit down,” said he, looking up. ** Mr. Mac- 
Pherson will be in shortly. You’re the young 
fellow just arrived, I suppose ? ” 

‘‘ Yes, sir,” said Bob. 

“ You’ve had a long journey, I hear, and must 
be glad to get out. When did you leave 
home ? ” 

“ In September, sir, when I goes t’ my trail.” 

“ I came here on the Eric in September, and if 
you want to see home as badly as I do you’re 


A MISSION OF TRUST 


213 


pretty anxious to get back there. But there 
isn^t any chance of getting away from here till 
the ship comes. This is the last place God ever 
made and the loneliest. What did you say your 
name is ? ’’ 

“ Bob Gray, sir.’^ 

“ Well, Mr. MacPherson will call you some- 
thing else, but don't mind that. He has a new 
name for every one. He calls Sishetakushin, one 
of the Indians you came in with, Abraham 
Lincoln because he's so tall, and one of the stout 
Eskimos is Grover Cleveland. That's the name 
of an American president. Mr. MacPherson gets 
the papers every year and keeps posted. He 
received, on the ship, all last year's issues of a 
New York paper called the Sun besides a great 
packet of Scotch and English papers. But this 
Sun he thinks more of than any of them and 
every morning he picks out the paper for that 
date the year before and reads it as though it 
had just been delivered. One year behind, but 
just as fresh here. He finds a lot of new names 
in 'em to give the Eskimos and Indians and the 
rest of us that way. I'm Secretary Bayard, who- 
ever he may be. I don't read the American 
papers much. The chief clerk is Lord Salisbury, 


214 


UNGAVA BOB 


the new premier. You know the Conservatives 
downed the Liberals, and Gladstone is out. 
Good enough for him, too, for meddling in the 
Irish question. Fm a conservative, or I would 
be if I was home. We don*t have a chance to 
be anything here. Now, I suppose you ” 

Here Mr. MacPherson entered and the loqua- 
cious Secretary Bayard became suddenly en- 
grossed in his work. The factor opened a door 
leading into a small room to the right. 

“Come in here, Ungava Bob,’^ said he, “and 
we’ll have a talk. Now,” he continued when 
they were seated, “ what do you think you’ll 
do?” ' 

“ I don’t know, sir. I wants t’ get home won- 
derful bad,” said Bob. 

“Yes, yes, I suppose you do. But you’re a 
long way from home. It looks as though you’ll 
have to stay here till the ship comes next sum- 
mer. I can send you back with it.” 

“ ’Tis a long while t’ be bidin’ here, sir, an’ 
I’m fearin’ as mother’ll be worryin’.” 

“There’s no way out of it that I can see, 
though. I’ll give you work to do to pay for your 
keep, and I’m afraid that’s the best we can do. 
Unless,” continued the factor, thoughtfully, 


A MISSION OF TRUST 


215 


** unless you go with the mail. I find I’ve got to 
send some letters to Fort Pelican. How far is 
that from Eskimo Bay, — a hundred miles ? ” 

“ Ninety, sir.” 

“ Do you speak Eskimo ? ” 

‘‘ No, sir.” 

“ Well, the dog drivers will be Eskimos. The 
men that leave here will go east to the coast. 
They will meet other Eskimos there who will go 
to Pelican. It’s a hard and dangerous journey. 
Are you a good traveller ? ” 

‘‘ Not so bad, sir, an’ I drives dogs.” 

Mr. MacPherson was silent for a few moments, 
then he spoke. 

These Eskimos are careless scallawags with 
letters and they lose them sometimes. The let- 
ters I am sending are very important ones or I 
wouldn’t be sending them. I think you would 
take better care of them than they. Will you 
keep them safe if I let you go with the Es- 
kimos ? ” 

“ Yes, sir. I’d be rare careful.” 

Well, we’ll see. I think I’ll let you take the 
letters. I can’t say yet just when I’ll have you 
start but within the month.” 

“ Thank you, sir.” 


2I6 


UNGAVA BOB 


** In the meantime make yourself useful about 
the place here. There’ll be nothing for you to 
do to-day. Look around and get acquainted. 
You may go now. Come to the office in the 
morning and one of the clerks will tell you what 
to do.” 

“ All right, sir.” 

When Bob passed out of doors he was fairly 
treading upon air. A way was opening up for 
him to return home and in all probability he 
should reach there by the time Dick and Ed and 
Bill came out from the trails in the spring and if 
they had not, in the meantime, taken the news of 
his disappearance to Wolf Bight, the folks at 
home would know nothing of it until he told them 
himself and would have no unusual cause for 
worry in the meantime. He felt a considerable 
sense of importance, too, at the confidence Mr. 
MacPherson reposed in him in suggesting that 
he might place him in charge of an important 
mail. And what a tale he would have to tell I 
Bessie would think him quite a hero. After all 
it had turned out well. He had caught a silver 
fox and all the other fur — quite enough, he was 
sure, to send Emily to the hospital. God had 
been very good to him and he cast his eyes to 


A MISSION OF TRUST 217 

heaven and breathed a little prayer of thanks- 
giving. 

Sishetakushin and Mookoomahn had been 
quite forgotten by Bob in the excitement of the 
arrival at the Fort. Now he saw them and the 
two other Indians coming over from the cabin to 
which they had gone when he left them to meet 
Mr. MacPherson, and he hurried down to meet 
them and tell them that he had found a way to 
reach home. It was plain that they did not ap- 
prove of the turn matters had taken, for they only 
grunted and said nothing. 

They turned to a building where the door 
stood open and Bob accompanied them and en- 
tered with them. This was the Post shop, and a 
young man, whom Bob had not seen before, pre- 
sumably “ Lord Salisbury,’^ the chief clerk of 
whom the talkative “ Secretary Bayard ** had 
spoken, was behind the counter attending to the 
wants of an Eskimo and his wife, the latter with 
a black-eyed, round-faced baby which sat con- 
tentedly in her hood sucking a stick of black to- 
bacco. The clerk spoke to the Indians in their 
language, said “ good day ” to Bob in English, 
and then continued his dickering in the Eskimo 
language with his customers, who had deposited 


2i8 UNGAVA bob 

before them on the counter a number of arctic 
fox pelts. 

"V^hen the clerk had finished with the Eskimos 
he turned to the Indians in a very businesslike 
way and asked to see the furs they had brought. 
They produced some marten skins which, after a 
great deal of wrangling, were bartered for to- 
bacco, tea, powder, shot, bullets, gun caps, beads, 
three-cornered needles and a few trinkets. Much 
time was consumed in this, for the Indians in- 
sisted upon handling and discussing at length 
each individual article purchased. 

Bob had brought with him the marten skins 
that he had trapped during his stay with the In- 
dians and he exchanged them for a red shawl 
and a little box of beads for Manikawan, a trinket 
for the old woman, Manikawan^s mother, and 
a small gift each for'Sishetakushin and Mookoo- 
mahn, besides some much needed clothing for 
himself. 

These tokens of his gratitude he presented to 
the two Indians, who had indicated their inten- 
tion of returning to the interior camp the next 
morning. They had not fully realized until now 
that Bob was actually going to leave them and 
attempt to reach home with the Eskimos, and 


A MISSION OF TRUST 


219 


they protested vigorously against the plan. Sish- 
etakushin told him the Eskimos were bad peo- 
ple and would never guide him safely td^ his 
friends. Indeed, he asserted, they might kill 
him when they had him alone with them. On 
the other hand, the Indians were kind and true. 
They had recognized his worth and had adopted 
him into the tribe. With them he had been 
happy and with them he would be safe. He 
could have his own wigwam and take Manikawan 
for his wife ; and sometimes, if he wished, he 
could go to visit his people. 

The failure of their arguments to impress Bob 
was a great disappointment to the Indians, and 
Bob, on his part, felt a keen sense of sorrow when, 
the following morning, he saw his benefactors 
go. They had saved his life and had done all 
they could in their rude, primitive way for his 
comfort, and he appreciated their kindness and 
hospitality. 

Ungava Bob, as every one at the Post called 
him, made himself generally useful about the fort 
and was soon quite at home in his new surround- 
ings. He cut wood and helped the Eskimo serv- 
ants feed the dogs, and did any jobs that pre- 
sented themselves and soon became a general 


220 


UNGAVA BOB 


favourite, not only with Mr. MacPherson, but 
with the clerks and servants also. 

His quarters with Sandy and Jamie seemed 
luxurious in contrast with the rough life of the 
interior to which he had so long been accus- 
tomed, and when the three gathered around the 
red hot stove those cold evenings after the day’s 
work was done and supper eaten, the Scotchmen 
held him enthralled with stories they told of 
their native land and the wonderful and magnifi- 
cent things they had seen there. 

Besides the factor and the two clerks these 
were the only white people at the Fort, and nat- 
urally they grew to be close companions. The 
white men, too, were the only ones of the Post 
folk that could speak English, for the few Eski- 
mos and Indians that lived on the reservation 
knew only their respective native tongue. 

And so the time passed until, at last, the mid- 
dle of March came, with its lengthening days 
and stormy weather, and Bob was beginning to 
fear that Mr. MacPherson had abandoned the 
project of sending him out with a mail, for noth- 
ing further had been said about his going since 
the conversation on the day of his arrival. For 
two or three days he had been upon the lookout 


A MISSION OF TRUST 


221 


for a favourable opportunity to ask whether or not 
he was to go, and was thinking about it one Fri- 
day morning as he worked at the wood-pile, when 

Secretary Bayard” hailed him : 

“ Hey, there. Bob I The boss wants you.” 

This was auspicious, and Bob hurried over to 
the factor^s inner office, where he found Mr. Mac- 
Pherson waiting for him. 

“ Well, Ungava Bob,” the factor greeted, “ are 
you getting tired of Ungava and anxious to get 
away ? ” 

“Pm likin* un fine, sir, but wantin' t' be goin' 
home wonderful bad,” answered Bob. 

” I suppose you are. I suppose you are. I 
remember when I was young and first left home, 
how badly I wanted to go back,” he said, rem- 
iniscently. ‘‘That was a long while ago and 
there's no one for me to go home to now — 
they're all dead — all dead — and it's too late.” 

He was silent for a little in meditation, and 
seemed to have quite forgotten Bob. Then sud- 
denly bringing himself from the past to the pres- 
ent again, he continued : 

“ Yes, yes, you want to go home, and I’m go- 
ing to start you on Monday morning. I’ll give 
you a packet of very important letters that you 


222 


UNGAVA BOB 


will deliver to Mr. Forbes, the factor at Fort 
Pelican, and I shall hold you responsible for their 
safe delivery. Akonuk and Matuk will go 
with you as far as Kangeva, where they will try 
to get two other Eskimos with a good team of 
dogs to take you on to Rigolet. But it may be 
they’ll have to go farther, to find drivers that 
know the way, and that will delay you some. 
You’ll have time to reach Rigolet, however, be- 
fore the break-up if you push on. The Eskimos 
will lose some time visiting with their friends 
when they meet them on the way, and I’ve al- 
lowed for that. Now, be ready to start on Mon- 
day. The clerks will fix you up with what sup- 
plies you will need for the journey.” 

“ Yes, sir. I’ll be ready, an’ thank you, sir.” 

“ Hold on,” said the factor as Bob turned to 
go. “ Here’s a rifle that I’m going to let you 
take with you, for you may need it.” He picked 
up a gun that had been leaning against the wall 
beside him. ‘‘ It’s a 44 repeating Winchester 
that I’ve used for three or four years, and it’s a 
good one. I’ve got a heavier one now for seals 
and white whales, and I’ll give you this if you 
take the letters through safely. Is that a bar- 
gain ? ” 


A MISSION OF TRUST 


223 

Bob^s eyes bulged and his pleasure was mani- 
fest. 

“Yes, sir. Thank you, sir. I’ll not be losin^ 
th’ letters.” 

It was the first repeating rifle — the first rifle, 
in fact, of any kind — that he had ever seen, 
and as Mr. MacPherson explained and illus- 
trated to him its manipulation, he thought it 
the most marvellous piece of mechanism in the 
world. 

“ Now be careful how you handle it,” cautioned 
the factor after the arm had been thoroughly de- 
scribed. “ You see that when you throw a car- 
tridge into the barrel by the lever action it cocks 
the gun, and if you’re not going to discharge it 
again immediately you must let the hammer 
down. It shoots a good many times farther, too, 
than your old gun, so be sure there are no Eski- 
mos within half a mile of its muzzle or you’ll be 
killing some of them, and I don’t want that to 
happen, for I need them all to hunt. Besides, if 
you killed one of them his friends would be put- 
ting you out of the way so you’d kill no more, 
and then my packet of letters wouldn’t be de- 
livered. Now look out.” 

“ I’ll be rare careful of un, sir.” 


224 


UNGAVA BOB 


** Very well, see that you are. Be ready to 
start, now, at daylight, Monday.” 

“ ril be ready, sir.” 

Bob’s delight was little short of ecstatic as he 
strode out of the office with his rifle. 

The next day (Saturday) “ Secretary Bayard,” 
with voluminous comments and cautions in ref- 
erence to the undertaking, the Eskimos and things 
in general, helped him and the two Eskimos 
that were to accompany him put in readiness his 
supplies, which consisted of hardtack, jerked 
venison, fat pork — the only provisions they had 
which would not freeze — tea, two kettles, sulphur 
matches, ammunition, and a reindeer skin sleep- 
ing bag. The Eskimos possessed sleeping bags 
of their own. Blubber and white whale meat, 
frozen very hard, were packed for dog food. 

An axe, a small jack plane and two snow 
knives were the only tools to be carried. This 
knife had a blade about two feet in length and 
resembled a small, broad-bladed sword. It was 
to be used in the construction of snow igloos. 
The jack plane was needed to keep the komatik 
runners smooth. 

Instead of the runners being shod with whale- 
bone, as in many places in the North, the Bs- 


A MISSION OF TRUST 


225 


kimos of Ungava apply a turf — which is stored 
for the purpose in the short summer season — and 
mixed with water to the consistency of mud. 
This is moulded on the runners with the hands 
in a thick, broad, semicircular shape, and freezes 
as hard as glass. Then its irregularities are 
planed smooth, and it slips easily over the snow 
and ice. 

Finally, all the preparations were completed, 
and Bob looked forward in a high state of 
excited anticipation to the great journey of new 
experiences and adventures that lay before him 
to be crowned by the joy of his home-coming. 

But a thousand miles separated Bob from his 
home and danger and death lurked by the way. 
Human plans and day-dreams are not con- 
sidered by^the Providence that moulds man’s 
fortune, and it is a blessed thing that human 
eyes cannot look into the future. 


XIX 


AT THE MERCY OF THE WIND 

I N the starlight of Monday morning Akonuk 
and Matuk harnessed their twelve big dogs. 
Fierce creatures these animals were, scarcely 
less wild than the wolves that prowled over the 
hills behind the Fort, of which they were the 
counterpart, and more than once the Eskimos 
had to beat them with the butt end of a whip to 
stop their fighting and bring them to submission. 

The load had already been lashed upon the 
komatik and the mud on the runners rubbed 
over with lukewarm water which had frozen into 
a thin glaze of ice that would slip easily over the 
snow. 

Mr. MacPherson gave Bob the package of 
letters, with a final injunction not to lose them 
when at length the dogs were harnessed and all 
was ready. Good-byes were said and Bob and 
his two Eskimo companions were off. 

The snow was packed hard and firm, so that 
neither the dogs nor the komatik broke through, 
226 


AT THE MERCY OF THE WIND 227 


and the animals, fresh and eager, started at a 
fast pace and maintained an even, steady trot 
throughout the day. 

Occasionally there were hills to climb, and 
some of these were so steep that it was necessary 
for Bob and the Eskimos to haul upon the 
traces with the dogs, and now and then they had 
to lift the komatik over rocky places, and on one 
river that they crossed they were forced to cut 
in several places a passage around ice hills, 
where the tide had piled the ice blocks thirty or 
forty feet high. But for the most part the route 
lay over a rolling country near the coast. 

Only at long intervals were trees to be seen, 
and these were very small and stunted, and grew 
in sheltered hollows. At noon they halted in 
one of these hollows to build a fire, over which 
they melted snow in one of the kettles and made 
tea, with which they washed down some hard- 
tack and jerked venison. 

That night when they stopped to make their 
camp, sixty miles lay behind them. The going 
had been good and they had done a splendid 
day^s work. 

Before unharnessing the dogs, which would 
have immediately attacked and destroyed the 


228 


UNGAVA BOB 


goods upon the sledge had they been released, 
the Eskimos went about building an igloo. 

A good bank of snow was selected and out of 
this Akonuk cut blocks as large as he could lift 
and placed them on edge in a circle about 
seven feet in diameter in the interior. As each 
block was placed it was trimmed and fitted 
closely to its neighbour. Then while Matuk cut 
more blocks and handed them to Akonuk as 
they were needed, the latter standing in the cen- 
tre of the structure placed them upon edge upon 
the other blocks, building them up in spiral 
form, and narrowing in each upper round until 
the igloo assumed the form of a dome. When 
it was nearly as high as his head, the upper tier 
of blocks was so close together that a single 
large block was sufficient to close the aperture 
at the top. This block was like the keystone in 
an arch, and held the others firmly in place. 
Akonuk now cut a round hole through the side 
of the igloo close to the bottom, and large 
enough for him to crawl through on his hands 
and knees. 

When the Eskimos began building the snow 
house Bob commenced unloading the komatik, 
but Matuk called “ Chuly, chuly,” — wait a 


AT THE MERCY OF THE WIND 229 

little — to him, and said “tamaany,’’ — here — a 
suggestion that he would be more useful in help- 
ing to chink up the crevices between the blocks 
of snow on the igloo after Akonuk placed them. 
This he did, and in half an hour from the time 
they halted the igloo was completed and was so 
strongly built a man could have stood on its top 
without fear of breaking it down. 

The tops of spruce boughs were now cut and 
spread within, after which they unlashed the 
komatik, and, covering the bed of boughs with 
deerskins, stored everything that the dogs would 
be likely to destroy safely inside the igloo. 
This done the dogs were unharnessed and fed, 
the men standing over the animals with stout 
sticks to prevent their fighting while they rav- 
enously gulped down the chunks of frozen whale 
meat. 

This function completed, a fire was made out- 
side the igloo and tea brewed. With the kettle 
of hot tea the three crawled into the igloo, drag- 
ging after them a block of snow which Akonuk 
fitted neatly into the entrance and chinked the 
edges with loose snow. 

Matuk now brought forth an Eskimo lamp into 
which he squeezed the oil from a piece of seal 


230 


UNGAVA BOB 


blubber, first pounding the blubber with the axe 
head, and with moss to serve the purpose of a 
wick, the lamp was lighted. This lamp, which 
was made of stone cut in the shape of a half 
moon, was about ten inches long, four inches 
wide and an inch deep. The moss that served 
as a wick was arranged along the straight side, 
and gave out a strong, fishy odour as it burned. 

Besides the tea, hardtack and jerked venison. 
Bob ate pieces of the frozen fat pork which had 
been boiled before starting, and found it very 
delicious, as fat always is to a traveller in the 
far North. The Eskimos each accepted a small 
piece of it from him, but when he offered them a 
second portion they both said “Taemet,’^ — 
Thank you, enough — and instead helped them- 
selves liberally to raw seal blubber, which they 
ate with an evident relish and gusto along with 
the jerked venison and hardtack. 

Akonuk, the older of these men, was perhaps 
thirty-five years of age, nearly six feet in height 
and well proportioned. Matuk was not so tall, 
but like Akonuk was well formed. Both were 
muscular and powerful men physically, and both 
had round, fat faces that were full of good 
nature. 


AT THE MERCY OF THE WIND 231 

Intense as was the cold out of doors, the stone 
lamp soon made the igloo so warm within that 
all were compelled to remove their outer skin 
garments. The snow, however, was not melted, 
but remained quite hard and firm. 

The Eskimos talked and smoked for a whole 
hour after supper, before stretching in their sleep- 
ing bags, but Bob crawled into his almost imme- 
diately, for he was very weary after his long 
day^s travel. His knowledge of their language 
was not sufficient for him to take part in the con- 
versation, or, indeed, to understand much they 
said, and the constant talk soon became tiresome 
to him, though he kept his ears open with a view 
to adding to his Eskimo vocabulary whenever an 
opportunity offered. 

“ Tis a strange language an' I'm wonderin' 
how they understands un," he observed as he 
turned over to go to sleep. 

Very early the next morning he heard Akonuk 
calling to Matuk to wake up. Then for a little 
while the two Eskimos conversed together and 
finally the lamp was lighted. Over this a snow 
knife was stuck into the side of the igloo and the 
kettle hung upon the knife in such a position 
that it was directly over the flame, and snow, cut 


232 


UNGAVA BOB 


from the side of the igloo near the bottom^ was 
melted for tea, and thus the simple breakfast was 
prepared without going out of doors. 

When Bob came out of his bag to eat he re- 
alized that a storm was raging outside, for he 
could hear the wind roaring around the igloo, 
and Akonuk made him understand that a heavy 
snow-storm was in progress and a continua- 
tion of the journey that day quite out of the 
question. When daylight finally filtered dimly 
through the igloo roof, he removed the snow 
block that closed the entrance, and crawled to 
the outer world, where he '^erified Akonuk’s 
statement. 

The air was so filled with snow that it would 
be quite useless to attempt to move in it. The 
previous night the dogs had dug holes for them- 
selves in the bank and were now completely cov- 
ered with the drift, and invisible, and the komatik, 
too, was quite hidden. The aspect was dreary in 
the extreme, and he returned to spend the day 
dozing in his sleeping bag. 

For two days they were held prisoners by the 
storm, and when finally the third morning dawned 
clear and cold, a deep covering of soft snow had 
spoiled the good going and they found travelling 


AT THE MERCY OF THE WIND 233 

much slower and more difficult than the day they 
started. 

Akonuk and Bob ran ahead on their snow* 
shoes to break the way for the dogs, which Matuk 
drove, and found it necessary to constantly urge 
the animals on with shouts of “ Oo-isht I Oo-isht ! 
Ok-suit ! Ok-suit ! ” and sometimes with stinging 
cuts of his long whip. This whip was made of 
braided strands of walrus hide, and tapered from 
a thickness of two inches at the butt to one long 
single strand at the tip. Its handle was a piece 
of wood about a foot long and the whole whip 
was perhaps thirty-five feet in length. When not 
in use a loop on the handle was dropped over the 
end of one of the forward crosspieces of the 
komatik, and its lash trailed behind in the snow. 
Here it could be readily reached and brought 
into instant service. Matuk was an expert in the 
manipulation of this cruel instrument, and the 
dogs were in deadly fear of it. When he cracked 
it over their heads they would plunge madly for- 
ward and whine piteously for mercy. When he 
wished to punish a dog he could cut it with the 
lash tip even to the extent of breaking the skin, 
if he desired, and he never missed the animal he 
aimed at. 


234 


UNGAVA BOB 


Each dog had an individual trace which was 
fastened to a long, single thong of sealskin at- 
tached to the front of the komatik. These traces 
were of varying length, the leader, or dog 
trained to the Eskimos’ calls, having the longest 
trace, which permitted it to go well in advance 
of the others. 

For several days the journey was monotonous 
and uneventful. Gradually as they advanced the 
travelling improved again, as the March winds 
drifted away the soft, loose snow and left the 
bottom solid and firm for the dogs. 

Ptarmigans were plentiful, as were also arctic 
hares, and a white fox and one or two white owls 
were killed. The flesh of all these they ate, and 
were thus enabled to keep in reserve the pro- 
visions they had brought with them. Bob was 
rather disgusted than amused to see the Eskimos 
eat the flesh of animals and birds raw. They ap- 
peared to esteem as a particular delicacy the 
freshly killed ptarmigans, still warm with the life 
blood, eating even the entrails uncooked. 

One afternoon they turned the komatik from 
the land to the far stretching ice of a wide bay, 
directing their course towards a cove on the far- 


AT THE MERCY OF THE WIND 235 

ther side, where the Eskimos said they expected 
to find igloos. 

All day a stiff wind had been blowing from the 
southwest and as the day grew old it increased 
in velocity. The komatik was taking an almost 
easterly course and therefore the wind did not 
seriously hamper their progress, though it was 
bitter cold and searching and made travelling 
extremely uncomfortable. 

Less than half-way across the bay, which was 
some twelve miles wide, a crack in the ice was 
passed over. Presently cracks became numerous, 
and glancing behind him Bob noticed a wide 
black space along the shore at the point where 
they had taken to the ice, and could see in the 
distance farther to the northwest, as it reflected 
the light, a white streak of foam where the angry 
sea was assailing the ice barrier. He realized at 
once that the wind and sea were smashing 
the ice. 

They were far from land and in grave peril. 
The Eskimos urged the dogs to renewed efforts, 
and the poor brutes themselves, seeming to re- 
alize the danger, pulled desperately at the traces. 

After a time the ice beneath them began to 


236 


UNGAVA BOB 


undulate, moving up and down in waves and 
giving an uncertain footing. Between them and 
the cove they were heading for, but a littie out- 
side of their course, was a bare, rocky island and 
the Eskimos suddenly turned the dogs towards 
it. The whole body of ice was now separated 
from the mainland and this island was the only 
visible refuge open to them. Behind them the 
sea was booming and thundering in a terrifying 
manner as it drove gigantic ice blocks like 
mighty battering rams against the main mass, 
which crumbled steadily away before the on- 
slaught. 

It had become a race for life now, and it was a 
question whether the sea or the men would win. 
Once a crack was reached that they could not 
cross and they had to make a considerable detour 
to find a passage around it, and it looked for a 
little while as though this sealed their fate, but 
with a desperate effort they presently found 
themselves within a few yards of the island. 

Here a new danger awaited them. The ice 
upon the shore was rising and falling and 
crumbling against the rocks with each incoming 
and receding sea. To successfully land it would 
be necessary to make a dash at the very instant 


AT THE MERCY OF THE WIND 237 

that the ice came in contact with the shore. A 
moment too soon or a moment too late and they 
would inevitably be crushed to death. It was 
their only way of escape, however. The howl- 
ing dogs were held in leash until the proper 
moment, and all prepared for the run. 

Akonuk gave the word. The dogs leaped for- 
ward, the men jumped, and they found them- 
selves ashore. The three grabbed the traces 
and helped the dogs jerk the komatik clear of 
the next sea, and all were at last safe. 

Five minutes later a landing would have been 
impossible, and two hours later the entire bay 
surrounding their island was swept clear of ice 
by the gale and outgoing tide. 

During the whole adventure the Eskimos had 
conducted themselves with the utmost coolness 
and gave Bob confidence and courage. Dangers 
of this kind had no terrors for them for they had 
met them all their lives. 

They had landed upon the windward side of 
the island at a point where they were exposed to 
the full sweep of the gale. 

“ Peungeatuk ” — very bad — said Akonuk. 

Then he told Bob to remain by the dogs 
while he and Matuk looked for a sheltered camp- 


238 


UNGAVA BOB 


ing place. In half an hour Matuk returned, his 
face wreathed in smiles, with the information, 

“ Innuit, igloo.” 

Then he and Bob drove the dogs to the lee 
side of the island, where they found four large 
snow igloos and several men, women and chil- 
dren, standing outside waiting to see the 
white traveller. 

The Eskimos received Bob kindly, and they 
asked him inside while some of the men helped 
Akonuk and Matuk erect an igloo and fix up 
their camp. 

The several igloos were all connected by snow 
tunnels, which permitted of an easy passage from 
one to the other without the necessity of going 
out of doors. A piece of clear ice, like glass, 
was set into the roof of each to answer for a win- 
dow. They were all filled with a stench so sick- 
ening that Bob soon made an excuse to go out- 
side and lend a hand in unpacking and helping 
Akonuk and Matuk make their own snow house 
ready. 

There were no boughs here for a bed, as the 
island sustained no growth whatever, and in 
place of the boughs the dog harness was spread 
about before the deerskins were put down. In a 


AT THE MERCY OF THE WIND 239 

little while the place was made quite com- 
fortable. 

It was not until they sat down to supper that 
Bob realized fully the serious position they were 
in. Akonuk and Matuk, after much difficulty, 
for he could understand their Eskimo tongue so 
imperfectly, explained to him that there was no 
means of reaching the mainland as there were 
no boats on the island, and that after the food 
they had was eaten there would be no means of 
procuring more, as the island had no game upon 
it. They also told him that no one would be 
passing the island until summer and that there 
was therefore no hope of outside rescue. 

But one chance of escape was possible. If the 
wind were to shift to the northward and hold 
there long enough it would probably drive the 
ice back into the bay and then it would quickly 
freeze and they could reach the mainland. This 
their only hope, at this season of the year, for 
March was nearly spent, was a scant one. 


XX 


PRISONERS OF THE SEA 
HE party of Eskimos that Bob and his 



companions found encamped upon the 


island had come from the Kangeva 
mainland to spear seals through the animals^ 
breathing holes in the ice, which in this part of 
the bay were more numerous than on the main- 
land side. In the few days since they had estab- 
lished themselves here they had met with some 
success, and had accumulated a sufficient store 
of meat and blubber to keep them and their 
dogs for a month or so, but further seal hunting, 
or hunting of any kind, was now out of the 
question, as no animal life existed on the island 
itself, and without boats with which to go upon 
the water the people were quite helpless in this 
respect. 

Limited as was their supply of provisions, 
however, they unselfishly offered to share with 
Bob and his two companions the little they had, 
as is the custom with people who have not 
learned the harder ways of civilization and there- 


PRISONERS OF THE SEA 


241 


fore live pretty closely to the Golden Rule. This 
hospitality was a considerable strain upon their 
resources, for the twelve dogs in addition to 
their own would require no small amount of 
flesh and fat to keep them even half-way fed ; 
and the whale meat that had been brought for 
the dogs from Ungava Post was nearly all gone. 

Akonuk had been instructed by Mr. Mac- 
Pherson to discover the whereabouts of these 
very Eskimos and arrange with two of them to 
go on with Bob, after which he and Matuk were 
to secure from them food for themselves and 
their team and return to Ungava. 

A good part of the hardtack, boiled pork and 
venison still remained, for, as we have seen, the 
game they had killed on the way had pretty 
nearly been enough for their wants. It was for- 
tunate for Bob that they had these provisions, 
which required no cooking, for otherwise he 
would have had to eat the raw seal as the Eski- 
mos did. They understood his aversion to do- 
ing this, and generously, and at the same time 
preferably, perhaps, ate the uncooked meat 
themselves, and left the other for him. 

March passed into April, and daily the situa- 
tion grew more desperate, as the provisions di- 


UNGAVA BOB 


242 

minished with each sunset. Bob was worried. 
It began to look as though he and the Eskimos 
were doomed to perish on this miserable island. 
He was sorry now that he had not waited at Un- 
gava for the ship, and been more patient, for 
then he would have reached Eskimo Bay in 
safety. At first the Eskimos were very cheerful 
and apparently quite unconcerned, and this con- 
soled him somewhat and made him more confi- 
dent ; but finally even they were showing signs 
of restlessness. 

Every day he was becoming more familiar 
with their language and could understand more 
and more of their conversation, and he drew 
from it and their actions that they considered the 
situation most critical. Back of the igloos was a 
hill a couple of hundred feet high, and many 
times each day the men of the camp would climb 
it and look long and earnestly to the north, 
where the heaving billows of Hudson Straits and 
the sky line met, broken only here and there by 
huge icebergs that towered like great crystal 
mountains above the water. They were watch- 
ing for the ice field that they hoped would drift 
down with each tide to bridge the sea that sepa- 
rated them from the distant mainland. 


PRISONERS OF THE SEA 


243 


The early April days were growing long and 
the sun’s rays shining more directly upon the 
world were gaining power, though not yet 
enough to bring the temperature up to zero even 
at high noon, but enough to remind the men 
that winter was aging, and the ice hourly less 
likely to come back. 

One of the Eskimos, Tuavituk by name, was 
an Angakok, or conjurer, and claimed to possess 
special powers which permitted him to commu- 
nicate with Torngak, the Great Spirit who ruled 
their fortunes just as the Manitou rules the for- 
tunes of the Indians. Tuavituk one day an- 
nounced to the assembled Eskimos that some- 
thing had been done to displease Torngak, and 
to punish them he had caused the storm to come 
that had so suddenly carried away the ice and 
left them marooned upon this desolate island, 
and here they would all perish eventually of star- 
vation unless Torngak were appeased. 

This announcement occasioned a long discus- 
sion as to what the cause of their trouble could 
have been. One old Eskimo suggested that the 
ice had broken up at the very moment that the 
kablunok — stranger — arrived, and that his pres- 
ence was undoubtedly the disturbing influence 


244 


UNGAVA BOB 


White men, he said, showed no respect for 
Torngak, and it was quite reasonable, therefore, 
that Torngak should resent it and wish not only 
to destroy the white men, but punish the innuit 
who gave the kablunok shelter or assistance. 
If this were the case they could only hope for re- 
lief after first driving Bob from their camp. 
When once purged of his presence Torngak 
would be satisfied, he would send the ice back 
into the bay and they would be enabled to re- 
turn to the mainland and to renew their hunt- 
ingo 

A long discussion followed this harangue in 
which all the men took part with the exception 
of Tuavituk, who as Angakok reserved his opin- 
ion until it should be called for in a professional 
way ; and all agreed with the first speaker save 
Akonuk and Matuk, who, being visitors, spoke 
last. 

Akonuk asserted that he and Matuk had 
travelled with the kablunok all the way from Un- 
gava and had enjoyed during that time not only 
perfect safety and comfort, but had made an un- 
usually quick and lucky journey, killing all the 
ptarmigans and small game they wanted, and 
experiencing with the exception of one snow- 


PRISONERS OF THE SEA 


245 


storm excellent weather until they approached 
Kangeva. Then the ill wind blew upon them 
and brought disaster as they came to the camp 
on the island ; therefore it seemed quite certain 
that not the kablunok but some of the innuit in 
the camp had offended the great Torngak, and 
amongst themselves they must look for the cause 
of their misfortune. 

Matuk followed this speech with an address in 
which he bore out Akonuk’s statements, and, 
doubtless having in' mind Bob^s plentiful supply 
of tea, of which beverage Matuk was passionately 
fond and partook freely, he stated it as his 
opinion that the presence of the kablunok had 
actually been the source of the good luck they 
had had previous to their arrival at Kangeva. 
Then he wound up with the startling announce- 
ment that he believed he knew the cause of 
Torngak’ s anger : that on the very day of their 
arrival he had seen Chealuk — one of the old 
women — sewing a netsek — sealskin adikey — 
with the smew of the tukto — reindeer. 

Every one turned to Chealuk for confirmation 
and she said simply, 

“ It is true.” 

The Eskimos were struck dumb with horror. 


246 


UNGAVA BOB 


This, then, was the cause of their trouble. For 
the women to work with any part of the rein- 
deer while the men were hunting seals was one 
of the greatest affronts that could be offered the 
Great Spirit. Torngak had been insulted and 
angered. He must be appeased and mollified at ’ 
any cost. 

Tuavituk, the Angakok, it was decided, must 
do some conjuring. He must get into imme- 
diate communication with Torngak and learn 
the spirit’s wishes and demands and what must 
be done to dispel the evil charm that Chealuk 
had worked by her thoughtlessness. Tauvituk 
was quite willing — indeed anxious — to do this, 
but he demanded to be well paid for it, and 
every man had to contribute some valuable pelt 
or article of clothing. 

When all preparations for the seance had been 
made the Angakok’s head was covered and in a 
few moments he began to utter untelligible ex- 
clamations, which were shortly punctuated by 
shouts and screams and ravings. He fell to the 
floor and seemed stricken with a fit, and Bob 
thought the man had gone stark mad. He struck 
out and grasped those within his reach, and 
they were glad to escape from his iron clutch. 


PRISONERS OF THE SEA 


247 

For several minutes this wild frenzy lasted before 
he said an intelligible word. 

‘‘ The deer ! The deer I The deer’s sinew 1 
Chealuk ! ChealukI Chealuk I Torngak! The 
evil spirit is in Chealuk I She must go 1 Must 
go ! Send Chealuk away ! Send her away ! 
Send her away ! Send her away ! ” 

Finally from sheer exhaustion he quieted down 
and came out of his trance. He probably 
thought that he bad given them their value’s 
worth and what they had wanted, and that they 
should be satisfied. 

It was now decreed that, this being the direct 
command of Torngak, Chealuk must be expelled 
from the camp. Some even asserted that she 
should be killed, but the majority decided that 
as Torngak had said merely that “ Chealuk 
must go ” that meant only that she must be sent 
away. If this did not prove sufficient to counter- 
act their ill luck, why she could, after a reason- 
able time, be sought out and dispatched, if she 
had not in the meantime perished. 

The feeble old woman heard it all with out- 
ward stoic indifference. It was a part of her re- 
ligion and she probably thought the punishment 
quite just, and whatever shrinking of spirit she 


248 


UNGAVA BOB 


felt, she hid it heroically from the others. To 
have been killed immediately would have been 
more humane than banishment, for the latter 
only meant a slower but just as sure a death, 
from exposure and starvation. 

To Bob, who had listened intently and was 
able to grasp the situation in a general way, it 
seemed heartless in the extreme ; but his pro- 
tests would not only have been powerless to 
move the Eskimos from their purpose, but in all 
probability would have worked harm for himself 
and to no avail. These people that at first had 
seemed so amiable and hospitable, and almost 
childlike in their nature, had been by their 
heathen superstitions suddenly transformed into 
cruel, unsympathetic savages. 

“Oh,” thought Bob, “if I had but heeded 
Sishetakushin’s warning I ” 

But it was too late now to repent of the course 
he had taken and he had only to abide by it. 
It seemed to him that his own life hung by a 
mere thread and that at any moment some fancy 
might strike them to sacrifice him too. He had 
indeed but barely escaped Chealuk’s fate, and 
the next time he might not be so fortunate. 

In this disturbed state of mind he withdrew 


PRISONERS OF THE SEA 


249 


from the igloos and climbed the hill, where he 
stood and gazed longingly at the mainland hills 
to the southward, wondering where, beyond those 
cold, white ranges, lay Wolf Bight and his little 
cabin home, warm and clean and tidy, and 
whether his mother and father and Emily 
thought him safe or had heard of his disappear- 
ance and were mourning him as dead. And 
here he was far, far away in the north and hope- 
lessly — apparently — stranded upon a desolate 
island from which he would probably never es- 
cape and never see them again. 

Oh, how lonely and disconsolate he felt. Every 
day since he left home he had prayed God to 
keep the loved ones safe and to take him back 
to them. 

** I hopes theyTe safe an* Emily*s better, but 
th* Lard*s been losin* track o* me,** he said to 
himself with a wavering faith. 

But th* Lard took me safe t* Ungava, an* He 
must be watchin* me,** he exclaimed after further 
thought. ** An* He*s been rare good t* me.** 

Then like a bulwark to lean against there 
came to him the words of his mother as they 
parted that beautiful September morning : 

“ Don’t forget your prayers, lad, an* remember 


250 UNGAVA BOB 

your mother’s prayin’ for you every night an' 
every mornin’.” 

And Emily had said, too, that she would ask 
God every night to keep him safe. This brought 
him a renewal of his faith and he argued, 

Th’ Lard’ll sure not be denyin’ mother an’ 
Emily, an’ they askin’ He every day t’ bring me 
back. He sure would not be denyin’ they for 
He knows how bad ’twould be makin’ they feel 
if I were not cornin’ home. An’ He wouldn’t 
be wantin’ thaty for they never does nothin’ t’ 
make He cross with un.” 

This thought comforted him and he said con- 
fidently to himself, 

“ Th’ Lard’ll be showin’ th’ way when th’ right 
time comes an’ I’ll try t’ bide content till then.” 

But there was little in the surroundings to 
warrant Bob’s faith. Looking about him from 
the hilltop he could see nothing but open sea 
around the island with an expanse of desolation 
beyond — snow, snow everywhere, from the 
water’s edge to where the rugged mountains to 
the south and east held their cold heads into the 
gray clouds that hid the sky and sun. The sea 
was sombre and black. Not a breath of air 
stirred, not a sound broke the silence, and it 


PRISONERS OF THE SEA 


251 


seemed almost as though Nature in anxious sus- 
pense watched the outcome of it all. But Bob’s 
faith was renewed — the simple, childlike faith 
of his people — and he felt better and more con- 
tent with himself and his fortune. 

It was growing dusk when he returned to the 
igloos. As he descended the hill a flake of snow 
struck his face and it was followed by others. A 
breath of wind like a blast from a bellows 
swirled the flakes abroad. The elements were 
awakening. 

In the igloos Akonuk and Matuk were brew- 
ing tea for supper and the three ate in silence. 

Bob asked once, 

What’s to be done with Chealuk ? ” 

“ Nothing,” they answered laconically. 

This relieved the anxiety he felt for her, and 
he crawled into his sleeping bag and went to 
sleep, thinking that after all the judgment of the 
Angakok was a mere form, not to be executed 
literally. 

After some hours Bob awoke. The wind was 
blowing a gale outside. He could hear it quite 
distinctly. From what direction it came he could 
not tell, and after lying awake for a long while 
he decided to arise and see. 


252 


UNGAVA BOB 


When he removed the block of snow from the 
igloo entrance and crawled outside he was all 
but smothered by the swirling snow of a terrific, 
raging blizzard. He turned his back to the 
blast, and realized that it came from the north- 
east. The cold was piercing and awful. The 
elements which had been held in subjection for 
so long were unleashed and were venting them- 
selves with all the untamed fury of the North 
upon the world. 

As he turned to reenter the igloo an appari- 
tion brushed past him rushing off into the night. 

“ Who is it ? he shouted. 

But the wind brought back no answer and 
overcome with a feeling of trepidation and a 
sense of impending tragedy, half believing that 
he had seen a ghost, he crawled back to his 
cover and warm sleeping bag to wonder. 

There was no cessation in the storm or change 
in the conditions the next day. In the morning 
while they were drinking their hot tea Bob told 
Akonuk and Matuk of the apparition he had 
seen in the night. 

“ That,” they said in awe, “ was the spirit of 
Torngak,” and Bob was duly impressed. 

Upon a visit later to the other igloos he 


PRISONERS OF THE SEA 


253 


missed Chealuk. She had always sat in one 
corner plying her needle, and had always had a 
word for him when he came in to pay a visit. 
Her absence was therefore noticeable and Bob 
asked one of the Eskimos where she was. 

‘‘ Gone,^^ said the Eskimo. 

And this was all he could learn from them. 
Poor old Chealuk had been sent away, and it 
must have been she, then, that he had seen in 
the darkness. 

That night Bob was aroused again, and he 
immediately realized that something of moment 
had occurred. Akonuk and Matuk were awake 
and talking excitedly, and through the shrieking 
of the gale outside came a distinct and unusual 
sound. It was like the roar of distant thunder, 
but still it was not thunder. He sat up sharply 
to learn the meaning of it all. 


XXI 


ADRIFT ON THE ICE 
HE unusual sound that Bob heard was 



the pounding of ice driven by the 


mighty force of wind and tide against 
the island rocks. This the Eskimos verified 
with many exclamations of delight. The hoped 
for had happened and release from their impris- 
onment was at hand. Bob thanked God for re- 
membering them. 

“ I were thinkin’ th’ Lard would not be losin’ 
sight o’ me now He’s been so watchful in all th’ 
other times I were needin’ help,” said he as he 
lay down. 

To the Eskimos it was a proof of the efficacy 
of the appeal to the Angakok. 

During the next day the high wind and snow 
continued until dusk. Then the weather began 
to calm and before morning the sky was clear 
and the stars shining cold and brilliant, and the 
sun rose clear and beautiful. Kangeva Bay, a 
solid field of ice again, as it was when Bob first 


ADRIFT ON THE ICE 


255 

saw it, stretched away unbroken and white to 
the northward. 

No time was lost in making preparations for 
their escape. The komatiks were packed at 
once with the camp goods and the little food 
that still remained, the dogs were harnessed and 
a quick march took them safely to the main- 
land. 

Here the Eskimos had an ample cache of seal 
and walrus meat killed earlier in the season. 
New igloos were built, as the old ones in use be- 
fore they transferred to the island were not con- 
sidered comfortable, the previous occupancy hav- 
ing softened the interior snow, which was now 
encrusted with a thin glaze of ice and this glaze 
prevented a free circulation of air. 

Bob wanted to go on without delay but 
Akonuk and Matuk had found none of the Eski- 
mos willing to proceed with him. It was there- 
fore necessary for them to go with him until an- 
other camp was reached, and they insisted upon 
delaying the start a day in order as they said to 
give the dogs a good feed and get them in bet- 
ter shape for the journey, as they for some time 
had been fed only each alternate day instead of 
every day as was customary, and even then had 


256 


UNGAVA BOB 


received but half their usual portion. This 
seemed quite reasonable, but when Bob saw his 
friends a little later consuming raw seal meat 
themselves in enormous quantities, he concluded 
that the dogs were not the only object of their 
consideration. 

They were still busily engaged arranging their 
new quarters when one of the Eskimos called the 
attention of the others to a black object far out 
upon the ice in the direction from which they had 
come. Slowly it tottered towards them and in a 
little while it was made out to be old Chealuk, 
who had been in hiding somewhere on the island. 
The poor old woman, nearly starved and with 
frozen hands and feet, was barely able to drag 
herself into camp. Some of the men protested 
against receiving her but she was finally permit- 
ted to enter the igloos and take up her old place, 
though with the understanding that she should 
leave again immediately at the first indication of 
Torngak’s displeasure. 

It was a great relief to Bob to know that she 
had not perished. The old woman had only 
been able to keep from freezing to death, as he 
learned, by hollowing out a place in a snow-bank 
in which to lie and letting the snow drift thickly 


ADRIFT ON THE ICE 


257 

over her and remaining there until the storm had 
spent itself. 

‘‘ Sure Fm glad F see she back again/' thought 
Bob, and he voiced the sentiment to Matuk. 

“Atsuk" — I don't know — said the Eskimo 
with a shrug of the shoulders. 

While, as we have seen, none of the Eskimos 
would take the place of Akonuk and Matuk, 
they gave them sufficient seal meat and blubber 
for a two weeks' journey, and early the next 
morning the march eastward was resumed. 

Bob was now driven to eating seal meat, as all 
his other provisions were exhausted, though, 
fortunately, he still had an abundance of tea. 
He had often eaten seal meat at home and was 
rather fond of it when it was properly cooked, 
but now no wood with which to make a fire was 
to be had. The land was absolutely barren, and 
even the moss was so deeply hidden beneath the 
snow it could not be resorted to for this purpose. 
Evenings in the igloo he boiled some meat over 
the stone kmp — enough to last him through the 
following day — but at best he could get it but 
partially cooked. However, he soon learned not 
to mind this much, for hunger is the best im- 
aginable sauce, and in the cold of the Arctic 


258 UNGAVA BOB 

north one can eat with a relish what could not 
be endured in a milder climate. 

For several days they traversed mountain 
passes where they were shut in by towering, 
rugged peaks which seemed to reach to the 
very heavens. Bleak and desolate as the land- 
scape was it possessed a magnificence and grand- 
eur that demanded admiration and called forth 
Bob’s constant wonder. He would gaze up at 
the mysterious white summits and ejaculate, 

“ ’Tis grand ! ’Tis wonderful grand 1 ” 

Such mountains he had never seen before, and 
like all wilderness dwellers he was a lover of 
Nature’s beauties and a close observer of her 
wonders. 

It was near the middle of April now and the 
sun’s rays, reflected by the snow, were growing 
dazzlingly bright and beginning to affect their 
eyes. Goggles should have been worn as a pro- 
tection against this glare but they had none and 
did not trouble to make them until one night 
Matuk found that he was overtaken by a slight 
attack of snow-blindness. This is an extremely 
painful affliction which does not permit the suf- 
ferer to approach the light or, in fact, so much 
as open his eyes without experiencing agony. 


ADRIFT ON THE ICE 


259 


The sensation is that of having innumerable 
splinters driven into the eyeballs with the 
lids when opened and closed grating over the 
splinters. 

While they were waiting for Matuk to recover 
his eyesight Akonuk and Bob removed one of 
the wooden cross-bars from the komatik and 
with their knives cut from it three pieces each 
long enough to fit over the eyes for a pair of 
goggles. These were rounded to fit the face and 
a place whittled out for the nose to fit into. 
Then hollow places were cut large enough to 
permit the eyelids to open and close in them, 
and opposite each eye hollow a narrow slit for 
the wearer to look through. Then the interior 
of the eye places were blackened with smoke from 
the stone lamp, and a thong of sealskin was 
fastened to each end of the goggles with which 
to tie them in place upon the head. 

Thus a pair of goggles was ready for each 
when, after a three days’ rest Matuk’s eyes were 
well enough for him to continue the journey, and 
by constantly wearing them on days when the 
sun shone, further danger of snow-blindness was 
averted. 

Two days later, upon emerging from a moun- 


26 o 


UNGAVA BOB 


tain pass, they suddenly saw stretching far away 
to the eastward the great ocean ice. The sight 
sent the blood tingling through Bob’s veins. 
Nearly half the journey from Ungava to Eskimo 
Bay had been accomplished I 

“ Th’ coast ! Th’ coast ! ” shouted Bob. “Now 
ril be gettin’ home inside a month I ” 

He began at once to plan the surprise he had 
in store for the folk and an early trip that he 
would make over to the Post, when he would 
tell Bessie about his great “ cruise ” and hear 
her say that she was glad to see him back again. 
But Fortune does not wait upon human plans 
and Bob’s fortitude was yet to be tried as it 
never had been tried before. 

That afternoon an Eskimo village of snow 
igloos was reached. The Eskimos swarmed out 
to meet the visitors and gave them a whole- 
souled welcome, and in an hour they were quite 
settled for a brief stay in the new quarters. 

Akonuk told Bob that now after the dogs, 
which were very badly spent, had a few days in 
which to rest, he and Matuk would turn back to 
Ungava. They would try to arrange for two 
more Eskimos with a fresh team to go on with 
him, but as for themselves, even were the dogs in 


ADRIFT ON THE ICE 


261 


condition to travel, they did not know the trail 
beyond this point. 

The Eskimos here, like those they had met on 
the island at Kangeva, were engaged in seal 
hunting, and none of the men seemed to care to 
leave their work for a long, hard journey south. 
They did not say, however, that they would not 
go. When they were asked their answer was : 

“ In a little while — perhaps.*' 

This was very unsatisfactory to Bob in his 
anxious frame of mind. But he had learned that 
Eskimos must be left to bide their time, and that 
no amount of coaxing would hurry them, so he 
tried to await their moods in patience. He un- 
derstood the reluctance of the men to go away 
during one of the best hunting seasons of the 
year and could not find fault with them for it. 

The seals were the mainstay of their living and 
to lose the hunt might mean privation. They 
were in need of the skins for clothing, kayaks and 
summer tents, and the flesh and blubber for food 
for themselves and their dogs, and the oil for 
their stone lamps. 

Later in the season they would harpoon the 
animals from their kayaks, but this was the great 
harvest time when they killed them by spearing 


262 


UNGAVA BOB 


through holes in the ice where the seals came at 
intervals to breathe, for a seal will die unless it 
can get fresh air occasionally. Early in the 
morning each Eskimo would take up his posi- 
tion near one of these breathing holes, and there, 
with spear poised, not moving so much as a foot, 
sometimes for hours at a time, await patiently 
the appearance of a seal, which, having many 
similar holes, might not chance to come to this 
particular one the whole day. 

The spear used had a long, wooden handle, 
with a barbed point made of metal or ivory, and 
so arranged that the barbed point came off the 
handle after it had been driven into the animal. 
To the point was fastened one end of a long seal- 
skin line, the other end of which the hunter tied 
about his waist. 

The moment a seal’s nose made its appear- 
ance at the breathing hole the watchful Eskimo 
drove the spear into its body. Then began a 
tug of war between man and seal, and some- 
times the Eskimos had narrow escapes from be- 
ing pulled into the holes. 

The seals of Labrador, it should be explained, 
are the hair, and not the fur seals such as are 
found in the Alaskan waters and the South Sea. 


ADRIFT ON THE ICE 263 

There are five varieties of them, the largest of 
which is the hood seal and the smallest the doter 
or harbour seal. The square flipper also grows 
to a very large size. The other two kinds are 
the jar and the harp. 

These all have different names applied to them 
according to their age. Thus a new-born harp 
is a ** puppy,’* then a white coat ” ; when it is 
old enough to take to the water, which is within 
a fortnight after birth, it becomes a “ paddler,” a 
little later a ** bedlamer,” then a ** young harp ” 
and finally a harp. The handsomest of them all 
is the “ ranger,” as the young doter is called. 

Finally, one evening when all the men were 
assembled in the igloos after their day’s hunt, 
Akonuk announced that he and Matuk were to 
return home the next morning. This renewed 
the discussion as to who should go on with Bob, 
and the upshot of it was that two young fel- 
lows — Netseksoak and Aluktook — with the prom- 
ise that Mr. Forbes would reward them for aiding 
to bring the letters which Bob carried, volun- 
teered to make the journey. 

This settled the matter to Bob’s satisfaction 
and it was agreed that, as the season was far ad- 
vanced, it would be necessary to start at once in 


264 


UNGAVA BOB 


order to give the two men time to reach home 
again before the spring break-up of the ice. 

Long before daylight the next morning the 
Eskimos were lashing the load on the komatik 
and at dawn the dogs were harnessed and every- 
thing ready. Bob said good-bye to Akonuk and 
Matuk and the two teams took different direc- 
tions and were soon lost to each other^s view. 

“ ’Twill not be long now,” said Bob to him- 
self, “ an’ we gets t’ th’ Bay.” 

The sun at midday was now so warm that it 
softened the snow, which, freezing towards even- 
ing, made a hard ice crust over which the 
komatik slipped easily and permitted of very 
fast travelling until the snow began to soften 
again towards noon. Therefore the early part of 
the day was to be taken advantage of. 

The new team, containing eleven dogs, was 
really made up of two small teams, one of six 
dogs belonging to Netseksoak and the other of 
five dogs the property of Aluktook. At first the 
two sets of dogs were inclined to be quarrelsome 
and did not work well together. At the very 
start they had a pitched battle which resulted in 
the crippling of Aluktook’s leader to such an ex- 
tent that for two days it was almost useless. 


ADRIFT ON THE ICE 


265 


However, with the good going fast time was 
made. Usually they kept to the sea ice, but 
sometimes took short cuts across necks of land 
where, as had been the case near Ungava, the 
men had to haul on the traces with the dogs. 

The new drivers were much younger men 
than Akonuk and Matuk and they were in many 
respects more companionable. But Bob missed 
a sort of fatherly interest that the others had 
shown in him and did not rely so implicitly 
upon their judgment. 

Able now as he was to understand very much 
of their conversation, he took part in the discus- 
sion of various routes and expressed his opinion 
as to them ; and the Eskimos, who at first had 
looked upon him as a more or less inexperienced 
kablunok, soon began to feel that he knew nearly 
as much about dog and komatik travelling as 
they did themselves. Thus a sort of good fel- 
lowship developed at once. 

One evening after a hard day’s travelling as 
they came over the crest of a hill the first grove 
of trees that Bob had seen since shortly after 
leaving Ungava came in sight. It was the most 
welcome thing that had met his view in weeks, 
and when the dogs were turned to its edge and 


266 


UNGAVA BOB 


he saw a small shack, he knew that he was near- 
ing again the white man’s country. 

The shack was found to have no occupants, 
but it contained a sheet iron stove such as he had 
used in his tilts, and that night he revelled in the 
warmth of a fire and a feast of boiled ptarmigan 
and tea. 

** ’Tis like gettin’ back t’ th’ Bay,” said Bob, 
and he asked the Eskimos, “ Will there be igloo- 
soaks (shacks) all the way?” 

“ Igloosoaks every night,” answered Aluktook. 

The following morning a westerly breeze was 
blowing and the Eskimos were uncertain whether 
to keep to the land or follow the sea ice along 
the shore. The former route, they explained to 
Bob, passed over high hills and was much the 
harder and longer one of the two, but safer. 
The ice route along the shore was smooth and 
could be accpmplished much more quickly, but 
at this season of the year was fraught with more 
or less danger. For many miles the shore rose 
in precipitous rocks, and should a westerly gale 
arise while they were passing this point, the ice 
was likely to break away and no escape could be 
made to the shore. The wind blowing then 
from the West was not strong enough yet, they 


ADRIFT ON THE ICE 267 

said, to cause any trouble, and they did not 
think it would rise, but still it was uncertain. 

“ Which way should they go ? ” 

Bob^s experience at Kangeva made him hesi- 
tate for a moment, but his impatience to reach 
home quickly got the better of his judgment; 
and, especially as the Eskimos seemed inclined 
to prefer the outside route, he joined them in 
their preference and answered, 

“ We’ll be goin’ outside.” 

And the outside route they took. 

All went well for a time, but hourly the wind 
increased. The dogs were urged on, but the 
wind kept blowing them to leeward and they be- 
gan to show signs of giving out. Finally a veri- 
table gale was blowing and the Eskimos’ faces 
grew serious. 

They were now opposite that part of the shore 
where it rose a perpendicular wall of rock tower- 
ing a hundred feet above the sea, and offered no 
place of refuge. So they hurried on as best they 
could in the hope of rounding the walls and 
making land before the inevitable break came. 
Presently Aluktook shouted, 

‘‘ Emuk ! Emuk ! ” — the water 1 the water I 
Bob and Netseksoak looked, and a ribbon 


268 UNGAVA BOB 

of black water lay between them and the 
shore. 

They lashed the dogs and shouted at them un- 
til they were hoarse, in a vain effort to urge them 
on. The poor brutes lay to the ice and did their 
best, but it was quite hopeless. In an incredibly 
short time the ribbon had widened into a gulf a 
quarter of a mile wide. Then it grew to a mile, 
and presently the shore became a thin black line 
that was soon lost to view entirely. They were 
adrift on the wide Atlantic 1 

They stopped the dogs when they realized that 
further effort was useless and sat down on the 
komatik in impotent dismay. 

The weather had grown intensely cold and the 
perspiration that the excitement and exertion had 
brought out upon their faces was freezing. 
Snow squalls were already beginning and before 
nightfall a blizzard was raging in all its awful 
fury and at any moment the ice pack was liable 
to go to pieces. 


XXII 


THE MAID OF THE NORTH 

** f i AHE^S no profit in this trade any more/’ 
I said Captain Sam Hanks, as he sat 
down to supper with his mate, Jack 
Simmons, in the little cabin of his schooner. 
Maid of the North, “ I won’t get a seaman’s 
wages out o’ th’ cruise, an’ I’m sick o’ workin’ 
fer nothin’. Now there was a time before th’ 
free traders done th’ business t’ death that a 
man could make good money on th’ Labrador, 
but that time’s past. They pays so much fer th’ 
fur they’s spoiled it fer everybody, an’ I’m goin’ 
t’ quit.” 

” Th’ free traders don’t go north o’ th’ Straits 
much. Why don’t ye try it there, sir?” sug- 
gested the mate. 

‘‘ Ice. Too much ice. I’ve been thinkin* it 
over. Th’ trouble is we couldn’t get through th’ 
ice in th’ spring until after th’ Hudson’s Bay peo- 
ple had gobbled up everything. Th’ natives 
down that coast is poor as Job’s turkey, an’ they 

has t’ sell their fur soon’s th’ furrin’ season’s 
269 


270 


UNGAVA BOB 


over. I hears th’ company gets th* fur from ’em 
fer a song. Them natives ’ll give ye a silver fox 
fer a jackknife an’ a barrel o’ flour, an’ a marten 
fer a gallon o’ molasses. But the’s money in it if a 
feller could get there in time,” he added thought- 
fully. 

“ What’s th’ matter with goin’ down in th’ fall 
before th’ ice blocks th’ coast? Th’ Maid dth! 
North is sheathed fer ice, an’ we could freeze her 
in, some place down th’ coast, an’ be on hand t’ 
sail when th’ ice clears in th’ spring. We could 
let th’ folks know where we were t’ freeze up, an’ 
we’d pick up a lot o’ fur before th’ ice breaks, 
an’ th’ natives’d hold th’ rest until we calls cornin’ 
south. The’s a big chanct there,” said the mate, 
conclusively. 

“ I dunno but yer right. I hadn’t thought o’ 
goin’ down in th’ fall t’ freeze up. We’d have 
t’ be gettin’ t’ our anchorage by th’ first o’ Oc- 
tober.” 

“ The’s plenty o’ time t’ do that, sir. ’Twon’t 
take more’n ten days t’ fit out.” 

“ Then the’s th’ cost o’ shippin’ th’ crew t’ be 
taken into account, ’n havin’ ’em doin’ nothin’ 
th’ hull winter. I don’t know’s the’d be much in 
it after everythin’s counted out.” 


THE MAID OF THE NORTH 271 

“ That’s easy ’nufi fixed. Take a lot o’ traps 
an’ let th’ crew hunt in th’ winter. Ye wouldn’t 
have t’ pay ’em then when ye wasn’t afloat. Ye 
could give ’em their keep an’ let ’em hunt with 
th’ traps on shore an’ make a little outen ’em. 
The’s always fools ’nuff as thinks they’ll get rich 
if they has a chanct t’ try their hand doin’ some- 
thin’ they ain’t been doin’ before, an’ you kin get 
a crew o’ fellers like that easy ’nuff.” 

“ I dunno. Maybe I kin an’ maybe I can’t. 
Sounds like it’s worth tryin’ an’ I’ll think about 
it.” 

Every spring for ten years Captain Hanks — 
Skipper Sam he was generally called — had sailed 
out of Halifax Harbour with his schooner Maid 
of the North to work his way into the Gulf of St. 
Lawrence when the waters were clear of ice, and 
trade a general cargo of merchandise for furs 
with the Indians and white trappers along the 
north shore and the Straits of Belle Isle — the 
southern Labrador. 

At first he found the trade extremely lucrative, 
and during the first four or five years in which he 
was engaged in it accumulated a snug sum of 
money, the income of which would have been 
quite sufficient to keep him comfortably the re- 


272 UNGAVA BOB 

mainder of his life in the modest way in which he 
lived. 

But Skipper Sam was much like other people, 
and the more he had the more he wanted, so he 
continued in the fur trade. The fact that he had 
purchased some city real estate for the purpose 
of speculation became known, and other skippers 
sailing schooners of their own, with an eye to 
lucrative trade, decided that “ Skipper Sam must 
be havin’ a darn good thing on th’ Labrador,” and 
when the Maid of the North made her fifth voy- 
age she had another schooner to keep her com- 
pany, and another skipper was on hand to com- 
pete with Skipper Sam. 

Each year had brought additions to the trad- 
ing fleet, and competition had raised the price of 
fur until now the trappers, with a ready market, 
were growing quite independent, and Skipper 
Sam, instead of paying what he pleased for the 
pelts, which, when he had a monopoly of the 
trade, was a merely nominal price as compared 
with their value, was forced in order to get them 
at all to pay more nearly their true worth. 

Even now he was making a fair profit, but his 
mind constantly reverted to the “ good old 
days ” when his returns were from five hundred 


THE MAID OF THE NORTH 273 

to a thousand per cent, on his investment, and 
he felt injured and dissatisfied. At the end of 
every voyage he declared solemnly that he was 
no longer making more than seamen^s wages 
and would quit the trade, and the mate, who 
was well aware of the captain’s comfortable 
financial position, always believed he meant it. 

It should be said to Captain Hanks’ credit 
that he paid his mate and crew of five men 
the highest going wages, and treated them well 
and kindly. So long as they attended strictly 
to their duties he was their friend. They were 
provided with the best of food and they appre- 
ciated the good treatment and were loyal to Cap- 
tain Hanks’ interest and very much attached to 
the Maid of the North, as seamen are to a good 
ship that for several voyages has been their 
home. 

So it was that the mate made his suggestions 
so freely. If Captain Hanks were to quit the 
trade he knew that it would be many a day be- 
fore he secured another such berth, and his 
solicitude was therefore not alone in the cap- 
tain’s interests but was largely a matter of look- 
ing out for himself. 

The voyage just completed had not, in fact. 


274 


UNGAVA BOB 


been a very profitable one, for the previous win- 
ter had been a poor year for the trappers that 
they dealt with, just as it had been farther north 
in Eskimo Bay, and Skipper Sam had good 
reason for feeling discouraged. 

It was early in August now, and the Maid of 
the North was entering Halifax Harbour with the 
expectation of tying up at her berth the next 
morning. If she were to go north it would be 
necessary for her to be fitted out for the voyage 
immediately in order to reach her winter quar- 
ters before the ice began to form in the bays. 

The two men ate their supper and both went 
on deck to smoke their pipes. Skipper Sam 
had no more to say about the proposed under- 
taking until late in the evening, when he called 
the mate to his cabin, where he had re- 
tired after his smoke, and there the mate found 
him poring over a chart. 

“D’ye know anything about this coast?” the 
skipper asked, without looking up. 

The mate glanced over his shoulder. 

“ Not much, sir. I was down on a fishin’ 
cruise once when I was a lad.” 

“ Well, how far down ought we go, d’ ye 
think, before we lays up ? ” 


THE MAID OF THE NORTH 275 


“ I think, sir, we should go north o' Indian 
Harbour. Th' farther north we gets, th' more fur 
we'll pick up." 

“ Well," said the skipper, standing up, “ Fm 
goin' F sail just as quick as I can fit out. Ship 
th' crew on th' best terms ye can. We got F 
move smart, fer I wants time F run well down 
before th' ice catches us." 

“All right, sir." 

Thus it happened that the Maid of the Norths 
spick and span, with a new coat of paint on the 
outside, and a good stock of provisions and 
articles of trade in her hold, sailed out of 
Halifax Harbour and turned her prow to the 
northward on the first day of September, and 
was plowing her way to the Labrador at the 
very time that Bob Gray with his mother and 
Emily were returning so disconsolate to Wolf 
Bight after hearing the verdict of the mail boat 
doctor, and Bob was making the plans that car- 
ried him into the interior. 

The Maid of the North called at many har- 
bours by the way and the fame of Captain Hanks 
spread amongst the livyeres, as the native Labra- 
dormen are called. He told them what fabulous 
prices he would pay them for their furs in the 


276 


UNGAVA BOB 


spring when he came south with open water, 
and they promised him to a man to reserve the 
bulk of their catch for him, and all had visions 
of coming wealth. 

It was decided that they winter in the Harbour 
of God’s Hope, just north of Cape Harrigan, 
and after passing Indian Harbour the natives 
were notified that if they wished any supplies 
during the winter they could bring their furs 
there and get what they needed. 

The Harbour of God’s Hope was found to be 
a deep, narrow inlet, not as well protected from 
the sea as might be desired, but still compara- 
tively well sheltered, and particularly advanta- 
geous from the fact that the shores of the upper 
end of the inlet were wooded, an essential 
feature, as it provided an abundance of good 
fuel, and the supply on board was far from ade- 
quate for their needs. 

The Maid of the North was made as snug as 
possible for the freeze-up, but could not be 
brought as close to shore as desirable, because of 
shoals. However, her position was deemed 
quite safe, and Skipper Sam experienced a sense 
of supreme satisfaction at his achievements and 
the prospects for a profitable trade in the spring. 


THE MAID OF THE NORTH 


277 


The crew were put at work immediately to 
build a log shack for shore quarters, which was 
shortly accomplished. This shack was of ample 
size and was furnished with a stove brought from 
Halifax for the purpose, some chairs, a table and 
a kitchen outfit. 

The skipper, the mate and the cook remained 
on board at first, but the crew were given per- 
mission to go ashore and hunt and trap in the 
hills back of the harbour, an opportunity of 
which they promptly took advantage. 

As the cold weather came on and the ice 
formed thick and hard around the vessel it 
seemed unnecessary to keep a watch aboard, and 
as the shack was much more roomy than the 
cabin, and therefore more comfortable, all hands 
finally took up their quarters in it. 

As the winter wore on livyeres began to pay 
frequent visits to Skipper Sam from up and down 
the coast, and they all brought furs to trade. 
With the approach of spring the skipper found 
to his satisfaction that he had already collected 
more pelts than he had been able to purchase on 
his previous springes voyage in the South, and at 
prices that even to him seemed ridiculously low. 
These furs were duly stored aboard the Maid of 


UNGAVA BOB 


278 

the North, and by the first of May she had a 
cargo that could have been disposed of in Hali- 
fax or Montreal for several thousand dollars. 

It was at this time that the skipper suggested 
to the mate one evening, 

** Jack, les go caribou huntin’ t’-morrer. Fm 
gettin’ stiff hangin’ ’round here.” 

“ All right, sir,” acquiesced the mate, “ but,” 
he asked, “ th’ crew’s all away exceptin’ th’ cook, 
an’ who’ll look after things here if we both goes 
t’ once ? ” 

“ We kin leave the cook alone fer one day I 
guess. If any o’ th’ livyeres come he kin keep 
’em till we comes back in th’ evenin’.” 

The arrangements were therefore made for the 
hunt, and the following morning bright and early 
they were off. 

At sunrise there was a slight westerly breeze 
blowing, and the skipper suggested, 

“ Th’ wind might stiffen up a bit an’ we bet- 
ter keep an eye to it.” 

They were well back in the hills before the 
predicted stiffening came to such an extent that 
they decided it was wise to return to the shack. 

Skipper Sam and his mate were not accus- 
tomed to land travelling and the hurried retreat 


THE MAID OF THE NORTH 279 


soon winded them and they were held down to so 
slow a walk that the afternoon was half spent and 
the wind had grown to a gale when they finally 
came in view of the harbour. Skipper Sam was 
ahead, and when he looked towards the place 
where the Maid of the North had been snugly 
held in the ice in the morning he rubbed his eye& 
Then he looked again, and exclaimed : 

‘‘ By gum 1 ” 

The harbour was clear of ice and nowhere on 
the horizon was the Maid of the North to be seen. 
The gale had swept the ice to sea and carried 
with it the Maid of the North and all her valuable 
cargo. The cook, asleep in his bunk in the 
shack, was quite unconscious of the calamity 
when the skipper roused him to demand expla- 
nations. 

But there were no explanations to be given. 
The schooner was gone, that was all, and Cap- 
tain Sam Hanks and his crew were stranded 
upon the coast of Labrador. 


XXIIl 


THE HAND OF PROVIDENCE 

B ob and his companions were indeed in a 
most desperate situation, and even they, 
accustomed and inured as they were to 
the vicissitudes and rigours of the North, could 
see no possible way of escape. Men of less 
courage or experience would probably have re- 
signed themselves to their fate at once, without 
one further effort to preserve their lives, and in 
an hour or two have succumbed to the bitter 
cold of the storm. But these men had learned 
to take events as they came largely as a 
matter of course, and they did not for a moment 
lose heart or self-control. 

The dogs were driven a little farther towards 
the interior of the ice, for if the pack were to 
break up the outer edge would be the first to 
go. Here immediate preparations were made to 
camp. 

There was no bank from which snow blocks 
could be cut for an igloo, and the blinding 
280 


THE HAND OF PROVIDENCE 281 


snow so obscured their surroundings that they 
could not so much as find a friendly ice hum- 
mock to take refuge behind. The gale, in fact, 
was so fierce that they could scarce hold their 
feet against it, and had they released their hold 
of the komatik even for an instant, it is doubt- 
ful if they could have found it again. 

The deerskin sleeping bags were unlashed and 
the sledge turned upon its side. In the lee of this 
the bags were stretched upon the ice and with 
their skin clothes on they crawled into them. 
Each called ‘‘ Oksunae ” — ^be strong — have cour- 
age — to the others, and then drew his head within 
the folds of his skin covering. 

Bob wore the long, warm coat that Manikawan 
had made for him, and as he snuggled close into 
the bag he thought of her kindness to him, and 
he dreamed that night that he had gone back and 
found her waiting for him and looking just as 
she did the morning she waved him farewell, as 
she stood in the light of the cold winter moon — 
tall and graceful and comely, with the tears glis- 
tening in her eyes. 

The dogs, still in harness, lay down where 
they stood, and in a little while the snow, which 
found lodgment against the komatik, covered 


282 


UNGAVA BOB 


men and dogs alike in one big drift and the 
weary travellers slept warm and well regardless 
of the fact that at any moment the ice might part 
and they be swallowed up by the sea. 

The storm was one of those sudden outbursts 
of anger that winter in his waning power inflicts 
upon the world in protest against the coming 
spring supplanting him, and as a reminder that 
he still lives and carries with him his withering 
rod of chastisement and breath of destruction. 
But he was now so old and feeble that in a single 
night his strength was spent, and when morning 
dawned the sun arose with a new warmth and the 
wind had ceased to blow. 

The men beneath the snow did not move. It 
was quite useless for them to get up. There was 
nothing that they could do, and they might as 
well be sleeping as wandering aimlessly about 
the ice field. 

The dogs, however, thought differently. 
They had not been fed the previous night, and 
bright and early they were up, nosing about 
within the limited area afforded them by the 
length of their traces. One of them began to dig 
away the snow around the komatik. He paused, 
held his nose into the drift a moment and 


THE HAND OF PROVIDENCE 283 

sniffed, then went vigorously to work again with 
his paws. Soon he grabbed something in his 
fangs. The others joined him, and the snarling 
and fighting that ensued aroused Bob and the 
sleeping Eskimos. 

Aluktook was the first to throw off the snow 
and look out to see what the trouble was about. 
Then he shouted and jumped to his feet, kicking 
the dogs with all his power. Bob and Netsek- 
soak sprang to his aid, but they were too late. 

The dogs had devoured every scrap of food 
they had, save some tea that Bob kept in a small 
bag in which he carried his few articles of dun- 
nage. 

This was a terrible condition of affairs, for 
though they were doubtless doomed to drown 
with the first wind strong enough to shatter the 
ice, still the love of living was strong within 
them, and they must eat to live. 

Separating and going in different directions, 
the three hunted about in the vain hope that 
somewhere on the ice there might be seals that 
they could kill, but nowhere was there to be seen 
a living thing — nothing but one vast field of ice 
reaching to the horizon on the north, east and 
south- To the west the water sparkled in the 


284 


UNGAVA BOB 


sunlight, but no land and no life, human or 
otherwise, was within the range of vision. 

After a time they returned to their bivouac 
and then drove the dogs a little farther into the 
ice pack to a high hummock that Aluktook had 
found, and with an axe and snow knives cut 
blocks of ice from the hummock and snow from 
a drift on its lee side, and finally had a fairly sub* 
stantial igloo built. This they made as comfort- 
able as possible, and settled in it as the last 
shelter they should ever have in the world, as 
they all firmly believed it would prove. 

They were now driven to straits by thirst, but 
there was not a drop of water, save the salt sea 
water, to be had. 

“We’ll have to burn the komatik,” said 
Aluktook. 

Netseksoak knocked two or three cross-ba4*s 
from it and built a miniature fire, using the wood 
with the greatest possible economy, and by this 
means melted a kettle of ice, and Bob brewed 
some tea. 

The warm drink was stimulating, and gave 
them renewed ambition. They separated again 
in search of game, but again returned, towards 
evening, empty handed. 


THE HAND OF PROVIDENCE 285 


“Too late for seals, “ the Eskimos remarked 
laconically. 

All were weak from lack of food, and when 
they gathered at the igloo it was decided that 
one of the dogs must be killed. 

“ WeUl eat Amulik, he^s too old to work any- 
way,” suggested Netseksoak. 

Amulik, the dog thus chosen for the sacrifice, 
was a fine old fellow, one of Netseksoak's dogs 
that had braved the storms of many winters. 
The poor brute seemed to understand the fate in 
store for him, for he slunk away when he saw 
Netseksoak loading his gun. But his retreat was 
useless, and in a little while his flesh was stored 
in the igloo and the Eskimos were dining upon 
it uncooked. 

Though Bob was, of course, very hungry, he 
declined to eat raw dog meat, and to cook it was 
quite out of the question, for the little wood con- 
tained in the komatik he realized must be re- 
served for melting ice, as otherwise they would 
have nothing to drink. Another day, however, 
and he was so driven to the extremes of hunger 
that he was glad to take his share of the raw 
meat which to his astonishment he found not only 
most palatable but delicious, for there is a time 


286 


UNGAVA BOB 


that comes to every starving man when even the 
most vile and putrid refuse can be eaten with a 
relish. 

The dog meat was carefully divided into daily 
portions for each man. Some of it, of course, 
had to go to the remaining animals, to keep them 
alive to be butchered later, if need be, for this 
was the only source of food the destitute men 
had. 

Every day Bob and the Eskimos wandered 
over the ice, hoping against hope that some 
means of escape might be found. Bob realized 
that nothing but the hand of Providence, by some 
supernatural means, could save him now. Again, 
he said, 

“ Th^ Lard this time has sure been losin’ track 
o^ me. Maybe ’tis because when He were showin^ 
me a safe trail over th’ hills I were not willin^ t’ 
bide His time an’ go that way, but were cornin’ 
by th’ ice after th’ warnin’ at Kangeva.” 

But he always ended his musings with the 
comfortable recollection of his mother’s prayers, 
which had helped him so much before, and this 
did more than anything else to keep him cour- 
ageous and brave. 

The days came and went, each as empty as its 


THE HAND OF PROVIDENCE 287 


predecessor, and each night bringing less proba- 
bility of escape than the night before. 

Another dog was killed, and a week passed. 

The komatik wood was nearly gone, although 
but one small fire was built each day, and the 
end of their tea was in sight. 

This was the state of affairs when Bob wan- 
dered one day farther to the southward over 
the pack ice than usual, and suddenly saw in 
the distance a moving object. At first he im- 
agined that it was a bit of moving ice, so near 
was it to the colour of the field. This was 
quite impossible, however, and approaching it 
stealthily, he soon discovered that it was a polar 
bear. 

The animal was wandering leisurely to the 
south. Bob carried the rifle that Mr. MacPher- 
son had given him, as he always did on these 
occasions, and keeping in the lee of ice hum- 
mocks, that he might not be seen by the bear, ran 
noiselessly forward. Finally he was within shoot- 
ing distance and, raising the gun, took aim and 
fired. 

Perhaps it was because of weakness through 
improper food, or possibly as the result of too 
much eagerness, but the aim was unsteady and 


288 UNGAVA BOB 

the bullet only grazed and slightly wounded the 
bear. 

The brute growled and turned to see what it 
was that had struck him. When it discovered 
its enemy it rose on its haunches and offered 
battle. 

Bob was for a moment paralyzed by the im- 
mense proportions that the bear displayed, and 
almost forgot that he had more bullets at his dis- 
posal. But he quickly recalled himself and throw- 
ing a cartridge into the chamber, aimed the rifle 
more carefully and fired again. This time the 
bullet went true to the mark, and the great body 
fell limp to the ice. 

As he surveyed the carcass a moment later he 
patted his rifle, and said ; 

“ ^Tis sure a rare fine gun. I ne’er could ha’ 
killed un wi’ my old un.”. “Now th’ Lard 
must be watchin’ me or He wouldn’t ha’ sent 
th’ bear, an’ He wouldn't ha’ sent un if He 
weren’t wantin’ us t’ live. Th’ Lard must be 
bearin’ mother’s an’ Emily’s prayers now, after 
all — He must be.” 

The bear was a great windfall. It would give 
Bob and the Eskimos food for themselves and oil 
for their lamp, and the lad was imbued with new 


THE HAND OF PROVIDENCE 289 

hope as he hurried off to summon Netseksoak 
and Aluktook to aid him in bringing the carcass 
to the igloo. 

The afternoon was well advanced before he 
found the two Eskimos, and when he told them of 
his good fortune they were very much elated, and 
all three started back immediately to the scene of 
the bear hunt. As they approached it Aluktook 
shouted an exclamation and pointed towards the 
south. Bob and Netseksoak looked, and there, 
dimly outlined in the distance but still plainly 
distinguishable, was the black hull of a vessel 
with two masts glistening in the sunshine. 

“ *Tis th* hand o^ Providence 1 ” exclaimed Bob, 

The three shook hands and laughed and did 
everything to show their delight short of hug- 
ging each other, and then ran towards the ves- 
sel, suddenly possessed of a vague fear that it 
might sail away before they were seen. Bob 
fired several shots out of his rifle as he ran, to 
attract the attention of the crew, but as they ap- 
proached they could see no sign of life, and they 
soon found that it was a schooner frozen tight 
and fast in the ice pack. 

When they at last reached it Bob read, painted 
in bold letters, the name, '‘Maid of the North.” 


XXIV 


THE ESCAPE 

HEY lost no time in climbing on deck, 



and what was their astonishment when 


they reached there to find the vessel 
quite deserted. Everything was in spick and 
span order both in the cabin and above decks. 
It was now nearly dark and an examination of 
her hold had to be deferred until the following 
day. One thing was certain, however. No one 
had occupied the cabin for some time, and no 
one had boarded or left the vessel since the last 
snow-storm, for no footprints were to be found on 
the ice near her. 

It was truly a great mystery, and the only so- 
lution that occurred to Bob was that the ice pack 
had pinched the schooner and opened her up 
below, and the crew had made a hurried escape 
in one of the boats. This he knew sometimes 
occurred on the coast, and if it were the case, and 
her hull had been crushed below the water line, 
it was of course only a question of the ice break- 
ing up, which might occur at any time, when she 


THE ESCAPE 


291 


would go to the bottom. There was one small 
boat on deck, and if an examination in the morn- 
ing disclosed the unseaworthiness of the craft, 
this small boat would at least serve them as a 
means of escape from the ice pack. 

Whatever the condition of the vessel, the night 
was calm and the ice was hard, and there was no 
probability of a break-up that would release her 
from her firm fastenings before morning ; and 
they decided, therefore, to make themselves com- 
fortable aboard. There was a stove in the cabin 
and another in the forecastle, plenty of blankets 
were in the berths, and provisions — actual lux- 
uries — down forward. Bob was afraid that it 
was a dream and that he would wake up pres- 
ently to the realities of the igloo and raw dog 
meat, and the hopelessness of it all. 

He and the Eskimos lighted the lamps, started 
a fire in the galley stove, put the kettle over, 
fried some bacon, and finally sat down to a 
feast of bacon, tea, ship^s biscuit, butter, sugar, 
and even jam to top off with. It was the best 
meal. Bob declared, that he had ever eaten in 
all his life. 

“ An’ if un turns out t’ be a dream, ’twill be th’ 
finest kind o’ one,” was his emphatic decision. 


292 


UNGAVA BOB 


How the three laughed and talked and en- 
joyed themselves over their supper, and how 
Bob revelled in the soft, warm blankets of Cap- 
tain Hanks’ berth when he finally, for the first 
time in weeks, was enabled to undress and crawl 
into bed, can better be imagined than described. 

After an early breakfast the next morning the 
first care was to examine the hold, and very 
much to their satisfaction, and at the same time 
mystification, for they could not now understand 
why the schooner had been abandoned, they 
found the hull quite sound and the schooner to 
all appearances perfectly seaworthy. 

Another astonishment awaited Bob, too, when 
he came upon the quantities of fur, and the stock 
of provisions and other goods that he found be- 
low decks. 

’Tis enough t’ stock a company’s post 1 ” he 
exclaimed. But its real intrinsic value was quite 
beyond his comprehension. 

When it was settled, beyond doubt, that the 
Maid of the North was entirely worthy of their 
confidence and in no danger of sinking, the 
three returned to the igloo and transferred their 
sleeping bags and few belongings, as well as the 
dogs, to their new quarters on board of her. 


THE ESCAPE 


293 


After this was done they skinned and dressed 
the polar bear, which still lay upon the ice where 
it had been killed, and some of the flesh was 
fed to the half famished dogs. Bob insisted 
upon giving them an additional allowance, after 
the two Eskimos had fed them, for he said that 
they, too, should share in the good fortune, 
though Netseksoak expressed the opinion that 
the dogs ought to have been quite satisfied to 
escape being eaten. 

The choicest cuts of the beaPs meat the men 
kept for their own consumption, and Bob rescued 
the liver also, when Aluktook was about to 
throw it to the dogs, for he was very fond of 
caribou liver and saw no reason why that of the 
polar bear should not prove just as palatable. 
He fried some of it for supper, but when he 
placed it on the table both Aluktook and Netsek- 
soak refused to touch it, declaring it unfit to eat, 
and warned Bob against it. 

“ There^s an evil spirit in it,^^ they said with 
conviction, “ and it makes men sick.” 

This was very amusing to Bob, and disre- 
garding their warning he ate heartily of it him- 
self, wondering all the time what heathen super- 
stition it was that prejudiced Eskimos against 


294 


UNGAVA BOB 


such good food, for, as he had observed, they 
would usually eat nearly anything in the way of 
flesh, and a great many things that he would 
not eat. 

In a little while Bob began to realize that 
something was wrong. He felt queerly, and 
was soon attacked with nausea and vomiting. 
For two or three days he was very sick indeed 
and the Eskimos both told him that it was the 
effect of the evil spirit in the liver, and that he 
would surely die, and for a day or so he be- 
lieved that he really should. 

Whether the bear liver was under the curse of 
evil spirits or was in itself poisonous were ques- 
tions that did not interest Bob. He knew it had 
made him sick and that was enough for him, and 
what remained of the liver went to the dogs, 
when he was able to be about again. 

The days passed wearily enough for the men 
in their floating prison, impatient as they were 
at their enforced inactivity, but still helpless to 
do anything to quicken their release. May was 
dragging to an end and June was at hand, and 
still the ice pack, firm and unbroken, refused to 
loose its bands. Slowly — imperceptibly to the 
watchers on board the Maid of the North — it 


THE ESCAPE 


295 


was drifting to the southward on the bosom of 
the Arctic current. But the sun, constantly 
gaining more power, was rotting the ice, and it 
was inevitable that sooner or later the pack must 
fall to pieces and release the schooner and its 
occupants from their bondage. Then would 
come another danger. If the wind blew strong 
and the seas ran high, the heavy pans of ice 
pounding against the hull might crush it in 
and send the vessel to the bottom. Therefore, 
while longing for release, there was at the same 
time an element of anxiety connected with 
it. 

Finally the looked for happened. One after- 
noon a heavy bank of clouds, black and ominous, 
appeared in the western sky. A light pufi of 
wind presaged the blow that was to follow, and 
in a little while the gale was on. 

The Maid of the Norths it will be understood, 
lay in bay ice, and all the ice to the south of her 
was bay ice. This was much lighter than that 
coming from more northerly points, and when 
the open sea which skirted the western edge of 
the field began to rise and sweep in upon this 
rotten ice the waves crumbled and crumpled it 
up before their mighty force like a piece of card- 


296 


UNGAVA BOB 


board. It was a time of the most intense anxiety 
for the three men. 

Just at dusk, amid the roar of wind and smash- 
ing ice, the vessel gave a lurch, and suddenly she 
was free. Fortunately her rudder was not car- 
ried away, as they had feared it would be, and 
when she answered the helm. Bob whispered, 

“ Thank th^ Lard.^* 

They were at the mercy of the wind during the 
next few hours, and there was little that could be 
done to help themselves until towards morning, 
when the gale subsided. Then, with daylight, 
under short sail they began working the vessel 
out of the “slob” ice that surrounded it, and 
before dark that night were in the open sea, with 
now only a moderate breeze blowing, which for- 
tunately had shifted to the northward. 

Here they found themselves beset by a new 
peril. Icebergs, great, towering, fearsome masses, 
lay all about them, and to make matters worse a 
thick gray fog settled over the ocean, obscuring 
everything ten fathoms distant. They brought 
the vessel about and lay to in the wind, but even 
then drifted dangerously near one towering ice 
mass, and once a berg that could not have been 
half a mile away turned over with a terrifying 


THE ESCAPE 


297 


roar. It seemed as though a collision was inev- 
itable before daylight, but the night passed with- 
out mishap, and when the morning sun lifted the 
fog the ship was still unharmed. 

There was no land anywhere to be seen. 
What position they were in Bob did not know, 
and had no way of finding out. He did know, 
however, that somewhere to the westward lay the 
Labrador coast, and this they must try to reach. 

Fortunately he could read the compass, and 
by its aid took as nearly as possible a due wes- 
terly course. 

Alutook and Netseksoak, expert as they were 
in the handling of kayaks, had no knowledge of 
the management of larger craft like the Maid of 
the Northy and without question accepted Bob as 
commander and followed his directions implicitly 
and faithfully ; and he handled the vessel well, 
for he was a good sailor, as all lads of the Lab- 
rador are. 

They made excellent headway, and were fa- 
voured with a season of good weather, and like 
the barometer Bob’s spirits rose. But he dared 
to plan nothing beyond the present action. A 
hundred times he had planned and pictured the 
home-coming, but each time Fate, or the will of 


298 


UNGAVA BOB 


a Providence that he could not understand, had 
intervened, and with the crushing of each new 
hope and the wiping out of each delightful pic- 
ture that his imagination drew, he decided to look 
not into the future, but do his best in the present 
and trust to Providence for the rest, for, as he 
expressed it, 

Th* Lard’s makin’ His own plans an’ He’s 
not wantin’ me t’ be meddlin’ wi’ un, an’ so He’s 
not lettin’ me do th’ way I lays out t’ do, an’ I’ll 
be makin’ no more plans, but takin’ things as they 
comes along.” 

In this frame of mind he held the vessel stead- 
ily to her course and kept a constant lookout for 
land or a sail, and on the morning of the third 
day after the release from the ice pack was re- 
warded by a shout from Netseksoak announcing 
land at last. Eagerly he looked, and in the dis- 
tance, dimly, but still there, appeared the shore 
in low, dark outline against the horizon. 

Towards noon a sail was sighted, and late in 
the afternoon they passed within hailing distance 
of a fishing schooner bound down north. He 
shouted to the fishermen who, at the rail, were 
curiously watching the Maid of the Norths as she 
plowed past them. 



“He held the vessel steadily to her course” 














I 


THE ESCAPE 


299 


“ What land may that be ? ” pointing at a high, 
rocky head that jutted out into the water two 
miles away. 

“ Th* DeviPs Head,*^ came the reply. 

“ An^ what’s th’ day o’ th’ month ? ” 

“Th’ fifteenth o’ June,” rang out the answer. 
“ Where un hail from ? ” 

‘‘ Ungava,” Bob shouted to the astonished 
skipper, who was now almost out of hearing. 

The information that the land was the Devil’s 
Head came as joyful news to Bob. He had 
often heard of the Devil’s Head, and knew that 
it lay not far from the entrance to Eskimo Bay, 
and therefore in a little while he believed he 
should see some familiar landmarks. 

Bob’s hopes were confirmed, and before dark 
the Twin Rocks near Scrag Island were sighted, 
and as they came into view his heart swelled and 
his blood tingled. He was almost home I 

That night they lay behind Scrag Island, and 
with the first dawn of the morning were under 
way again. The wind was fair, and before sun- 
set the Maid of the North sailed into Fort Peli- 
can Harbour and anchored. 

Bob’s heart beat high as he stepped into the 
small boat to row ashore, for the whitewashed 


300 


UNGAVA BOB 


buildings of the Post, the air redolent with the 
perfume of the forest, and the howling dogs told 
him that at last the dangers of the trail and sea 
were all behind him and of the past, and that he 
would soon be at home again. 

Mr. Forbes was at the wharf when Bob landed, 
and when he saw who it was exclaimed in aston- 
ishment ; 

“ Why it’s Bob Gray ! Where in the world, 
or what spirit land did you come from ? Why 
Ed Matheson brought your remains out of the 
bush last winter and I hear they were buried the 
other day.” 

“ I comes from Ungava, sir, with some letters 
Mr. MacPherson were sendin’,” answered Bob, 
as he made the painter fast. 

** Letters from Ungava I Well, come to the 
office and we’ll see them. I want to hear how 
you got here from Ungava.” 

In the office Bob told briefly the story of his 
adventures, while he ripped the letters from his 
shirt, where he had sewed them in a sealskin 
covering for safe keeping. 

** Has un heard, sir, how mother an’ Emily an* 
father is?” he asked as he handed over the 
mail. 


THE ESCAPE 


301 

“ Mr. MacDonald sent his man down the other 
day, and he told me your mother took it pretty 
hard, when they buried you last week, although 
she has stuck to it all along that the remains Ed 
brought out were not yours and you were alive 
somewhere. Emily don^t seem to change. 
Your father and nearly everyone else in the Bay 
has had a good hunt. Go out to the men^s 
kitchen for your supper now and when you’ve 
eaten come back again and we’ll talk things over.” 

In the kitchen he heard some exaggerated de- 
tails of Ed’s journey out, and something of the 
happenings up the bay during the winter. When 
he had finished his meal he returned to the 
office, where Mr, Forbes was waiting for him. 

Well, Ungava Bob, as Mr. MacPherson calls 
you in his letter,” said Mr. Forbes, “you’ve 
earned the rifle he gave you, and you’re to keep 
it. Now tell me more of your adventures since 
you left Ungava.” 

Little by little he drew from Bob pretty com- 
plete details of the journey, and then told him 
that he had better sail the Maid of the North up 
to Kenemish, where Douglas Campbell and his 
father would see that he secured the salvage due 
him for bringing out the schooner. 


302 


UNGAVA BOB 


‘‘ An’ what may salvage be, sir ? ” asked Bob. 

‘‘Why,” answered Mr. Forbes, “you found 
the schooner a derelict at sea and you brought 
her into port. When you give her back to the 
owner he will have to pay you whatever amount 
the court decides is due you for the service, and 
it may be as much as one-half the value of the 
vessel and cargo. You’ll get enough out of it to 
settle you comfortably for life.” 

Bob heard this in open-mouthed astonishment. 
It was too good for him to quite believe at first, 
but Mr. Forbes assured him that it was usual 
and within his rights. 

They arranged that Netseksoak and Aluktook 
should go with him to Kenemish and later return 
to Fort Pelican to be paid by Mr. Forbes for their 
services and to be sent home by him on the 
company’s ship, the Eric^ on its annual voyage 
north. 

Then Bob, after thanking Mr. Forbes, rowed 
back to the Maid of the Norths too full of excite- 
ment and anticipation to sleep. 

With the first ray of morning light the anchor 
was weighed, the sails hoisted and but two days 
lay between Bob and home. 

As he stood on the deck of the Maid of the 


THE ESCAPE 


303 


North and drank in the wild, rugged beauty of 
the scene around him Bob thought of that day, 
which seemed so long, long ago, when he and his 
mother, broken hearted and disconsolate were 
going home with little Emily, and how he had 
looked away at those very hills and the inspira- 
tion had come to him that led to the journey 
from which he was now returning. Tears came 
to his eyes and he said to himself, 

‘‘ Sure th^ Lard be good ’Twere He put un in 
my head t’ go, an^ He were watchin’ over me an* 
carin’ for me all th’ time when I were thinkin’ He 
were losin’ track o’ me. I’ll never doubt th’ Lard 
again.” 


XXV 


THE BREAK-UP 

O NE evening a month after Ed Matheson 
started out with his gruesome burden to 
Wolf Bight, Dick Blake was sitting alone 
in the tilt at the junction of his and Ed’s trails, 
smoking his after supper pipe and meditating on 
the happenings of the preceding weeks. There 
were some things in connection with the tragedy 
that he had never been able to quite clear up. 
Why, for instance, he asked himself, did Micmac 
John steal the furs and then leave them in the tilt 
where they were found? Had the half-breed 
been suddenly smitten by his conscience ? That 
seemed most unlikely, for Dick had never dis- 
covered any indication that Micmac possessed a 
conscience. No possible solution of the problem 
presented itself. A hundred times he had probed 
the question, and always ended by saying, as he 
did now, 

“ ’Tis strange — wonderful strange, an’ I can’* 
make un out.” 

304 


THE BREAK-UP 


305 

He arose and knocked the ashes out of his 
pipe, filled the stove with wood, and then looked 
out into the night before going to his bunk. It 
was snowing thick and fast. 

‘‘ ’Tis well to-morrow’s Sunday,” he remarked. 
“ The’s nasty weather cornin’.” 

** That they is,” said a voice so close to his 
elbow that he started back in surprise. 

“ Why, hello, Ed. You were givin’ me a rare 
start, sneakin’ in as quiet’s a rabbit. How is 
un?” 

“ Fine,” said Ed, who had just come around 
the corner of the tilt in time to hear Dick’s re- 
mark in reference to the weather. “ Who un 
talkin’ to ? ” 

‘‘To a sensible man as agrees wi’ me,” 
answered Dick facetiously. “ A feller does get 
wonderful lonesome seein’ no one an’ has t’ talk 
t’ hisself sometimes.” 

The two entered the tilt and Ed threw off his 
adikey while Dick put the kettle over. 

“Well,” asked Dick, when Ed was finally 
seated, “ how’d th’ mother take un ? ” 

“ Rare hard on th’ start off,” said Ed. 
“ Twere th’ hardest thing I ever done, tellin’ she, 
an’ ’twere all I could do t’ keep from breakin’ 


306 UNGAVA BOB 

down myself. I ^most cried, I were feelin^ so bad 
for un. 

“ Douglas were there an^ Bessie were visitin’ 
th’ sick maid, which were a blessin’, fer Richard 
were away on his trail. 

goes in an’ finds un happy an’ thinkin’ 
maybe Bob’d be cornin’. I finds th’ bones get- 
tin’ weak in my legs, soon’s I sees un, an’ th’ 
mother, soon’s she sees me up an’ says she’s 
knowin’ somethin’ happened t’ Bob, an’ I has t’ 
tell she wi’out waitin’ t’ try t’ make un easy’s I’d 
been plannin’ t’ do. She ’most faints, but after a 
while she asks me t’ tell she how Bob were killed, 
an’ I tells. 

“ Then she’s wantin’ t’ see a bit o’ the clothes 
we found, an’ when she looks un over she raises 
her head an’ says, ‘ Them weren’t Bob’s. I 
knows Bob’s clothes, an’ them weren’t his^ 
When I tells ’bout findin’ two axes she says Bob 
were havin’ only one axe, an’ then she’s believin’ 
Bob wasn’t got by th’ wolves, an’ is livin’ some- 
wheres. 

“ Douglas goes for Richard, an’ when Richard 
comes he says th’ clothes’s Bob’s an’ th’ gun 
an’ Bob were havin’ only one axe. 

“ Richard’s not doubtin’ th’ remains was Bob’s 


THE BREAK-UP 


307 


though, an* o* course the’s no doubtin* that Th* 
clothes’s gettin’ so stained up I’m thinkin’ th* 
mother’d not be knowin’ un. But Richard sure 
would be knowin’ th’ gun, an’ that’s what Pm 
wonderin’ at.” 

‘‘ ’Tis rare strange,” assented Dick. **An’ Pm 
wonderin’ why Micmac John were leavin’ th’ fur 
in th’ ’tilt after stealin’ un. That’s what Pm 
wonderin’ at.” 

The whole evening was thus spent in discuss- 
ing the pros and cons of the affair. They both 
decided that while the gun and axe question 
were beyond explanation, there was no doubt 
that Bob had been destroyed by wolves and the 
remains that they found were his. 

The plan that Bill had suggested for hunting 
the trails without taking Sunday rest, thus en- 
abling them to attend to a part of Bob’s Big Hill 
trail, was resorted to, and the winter’s work was 
the hardest, they all agreed, that they had ever 
put in. 

January and February were excessively cold 
months and during that period, when the fur 
bearing animals keep very close to their lairs, 
the catch was indifferent. But with the more 
moderate weather that began with March and 


3o8 


UNGAVA BOB 


continued until May the harvest was a rich one, 
for it was one of those seasons, after a year of 
unusual scarcity, as the previous two years had 
been, when the fur bearing animals come in some 
inexplicable way in great numbers, and food 
game also is plentiful. 

At length the hunting season closed, when the 
mild weather with daily thaws arrived. The fur 
that was now caught was deteriorating to such 
an extent that it was not wise to continue catch- 
ing it. The traps on the various trails were 
sprung and hung upon trees or placed upon 
rocks, where they could be readily found again, 
and Dick and Ed joined Bill at the river tilt, 
where the boat had been cached to await the 
breaking up of the river, and here enjoyed a res- 
pite from their labours. 

Ptarmigans in flocks of hundreds fed upon the 
tender tops of the willows that lined the river 
banks, and these supplied them with an abun- 
dance of fresh meat, varied occasionally by rab- 
bits, two or three porcupines and a lynx that 
Dick shot one day near the tilt. This lynx meat 
they roasted by an open fire outside the tilt, and 
considered it a great treat. It may be said that 
the roasted lynx resembles in flavour and texture 


THE BREAK-UP 


309 


prime veal, and it is indeed, when properly 
cooked, delicious ; and the hunter knows how to 
cook it properly. Trout, too, which they caught 
through the ice, were plentiful. They had 
brought with them when coming to the trails in 
the autumn, tackle for the purpose of securing 
fish at this time. The lines were very stout, 
thick ones, and the hooks were large. A good- 
sized piece of lead, melted and moulded around 
the stem of the hook near the eye, weighted it 
heavily, and it was baited with a piece of fat 
pork and a small piece of red cloth or yarn, tied 
below the lead. The rod was a stout stick three 
feet in length and an inch thick. 

With this equipment the hook was dropped 
into the hole and moved up and down slowly, 
until a fish took hold, when it was immediately 
pulled out. The trout were very sluggish at this 
season of the year and made no fight, and were 
therefore readily landed. The most of them 
weighed from two to five pounds each, and in- 
deed any smaller than that were spurned and 
thrown back into the hole ‘‘ t’ grow up,’^ as Ed 
put it. 

One evening a rain set in and for four days and 
nights it never ceased. It poured down as if the 


UNGAVA BOB 


310 

gates of the eternal reservoirs of heaven had been 
opened and the flood let loose to drown the 
world. The snow became a sea of slush and 
miniature rivers ran down to join forces with the 
larger stream. 

At first the waters overflowed the ice, but at 
last it gave way to the irresistible force that as- 
sailed it, and giving way began to move upon 
the current in great unwieldly masses. 

The river rose to its brim and burst its banks. 
Trees were uprooted, and mingling with the ice 
surged down towards the sea upon the crest of 
the unleashed, untamed torrent. The break-up 
that the men were awaiting had come. 

“ Tis sure a fearsome sight,*’ remarked Bill 
one day when the storm was at its height, as he 
returned from ‘‘ a look outside ” to join Dick and 
Ed. who sat smoking their pipes in silence in the 
tilt. 

“ An* how’d un like t* be ridin* one o* them 
cakes o* ice out there, an’ no way o’ reachin’ 
shore ? ” asked Ed. 

I wouldn’t be ridin’ un from choice, an* if I 
were ridin* un I’m thinkin’ ’twould be my last 
ride,” answered Bill. 

“ Once I were ridin’ un, an* ridin* un from 


THE BREAK-UP 


311 

choice,” said Ed, with the air of one who had a 
story to tell. 

“No you weren’t never ridin’ un. What un 
tell such things for, Ed ? ” broke in Dick. “ Un 
has dreams an’ tells un for happenin’s. I’m 
thinkin’o” 

Ed ignored the interruption as though he had 
not heard it, and proceeded to relate to Bill his 
wonderful adventure. 

“ Once,” said he, — “ ’twere five year ago — I 
were waitin’ at my lower tilt for th’ break-up t’ 
come, an’ has my boat hauled up t’ what I 
thinks is a safe place, when I gets up one mornin’ 
t’ find th* water come up extra high in th’ night 
an’ th’ boat gone wi’ th’ ice. That leaves me in 
a rare bad fix, wi’ nothin’ t’ do, seems t’ me, but 
wait for th’ water t’ settle, an’ cruise down th’ 
river afoot. 

“ I’m not fancyin’ th’ cruise, an’ I watches th’ 
ice an’ wonders, when I marks chance cakes o’ 
ice driftin’ down close t’ shore an’ touchin’ land 
now an’ agin as un goes, could I ride un. Th’ 
longer I watches un th’ more I thinks *twould be 
a fine way t’ ride on un, an’ at last I makes up 
my pack an’ cuts a good pole, an’ watches my 
chance, which soon comes. A big cake comes 


UNGAVA BOB 


312 

rollin’ down an’ I steps aboard un an’ away I 
goes. 

‘‘ ’Twere fine for a little while, an’ I says, * Ed, 
now you knows th’ thing t’ do in a tight place.’ 

“ ’Twere a rare pretty sight watchin’ th’ shore 
slippin’ past, an’ I forgets as ’tis a piece o’ ice 
I’m ridin’ till I happens t’ look around an’ finds 
th’ cake o’ ice, likewise myself, in th’ middle o’ 
th’ river, an’ no way o’ gettin’ ashore. The’s 
nothin’ t’ do but hang on, an’ I hangs. 

“Then I sees th’ Gull Island Rapids an’ I 
’most loses my nerve. ’Tis a fearsome torrent 
at best, as un knows, but now wi’ high flood ’tis 
like ten o’ unself at low water. Th’ waves beats 
up twenty foot high.” 

Ed paused here to light his pipe which had a 
way of always going out when he reached the 
most dramatic point in his stories. When it was 
finally going again, he continued : 

“ Lucky ’twere for me th’ rocks were all cov- 
ered. In we goes, me an’ th’ ice, an’ I hangs on 
an’ shuts my eyes. When I opens un we’re 
floatin’ peaceful an’ steady below th’ rapids, an’ 
I feels like breathin’ agin. 

“Then we runs th’ Porcupine Rapids, an’ I 
begins t’ think I has th’ Muskrat Falls t’ run too, 


THE BREAK-UP 


313 


which would be th^ endin^ o’ me, sure. But I 
ain’t I uses my pole, an’ works up t’ shore, an’ 
just as we gets th’ rush o’ th’ water above th’ 
falls. I lands. 

‘‘ That were how I rid th’ river on a’ ice cake.” 

“ Where’d ye land, now ? ” asked Dick. ** This 
side o’ th’ river or t’ other ? ” 

“This side o’ un,” answered Ed, complacently. 

“ ’Tis sheer rock this side, an’ no holt t’ land 
on,” said Dick, triumphantly. 

“ Th’ water were t’ th’ top o’ th’ rock,” ex- 
plained Ed. 

“ Then,” said Dick, with the air of one who 
has trapped another, “th’ hull country were 
flooded an’ there were no falls.” 

Ed looked at him for a moment disdainfully. 

“ I were on th’ ice six days, an’ / knows” 

The men were held in waiting for several days 
after the storm ceased for the river to clear of 
debris and sink again to something like its 
normal volume, before it was considered safe for 
them to begin the voyage out. Then on a fair 
June morning the boat was laden with the outfit 
and fur. 

“ Poor Bob,” said Dick, as Bob’s things were 
placed in the boat. “ Th’ poor lad were so hope- 


314 


UNGAVA BOB 


ful when we were comin* in f th^ trails, an* now 
un*s gone. *Twill be hard t’ meet his mother an' 
Richard.** 

“ Aye, *twill be hard,** assented Ed ** She*ll 
be takin* un rare hard. Our comin* home*ll be 
bringin* his goin* away plain t* she again.’* 

‘‘ An* Emily, too,** spoke up Bill. “ They were 
thinkin* so much o* each other.** 

Then the journey was begun, full of danger 
and excitement as they shot through rushing 
rapids and on down the river towards Eskimo 
Bay, where great and unexpected tidings awaited 
them. 


XXVI 


BACK AT WOLF BIGHT 

B OB’S apparent death was a sore shock to- 
Richard Gray. When Douglas found 
him on the trail and broke the news to 
him as gently as possible, he seemed at first 
hardly to comprehend it. He was stunned. He 
said little, but followed Douglas back to the 
cabin like one in a mesmeric sleep. A few days 
before he had gone away happy and buoyant, 
now he shuffled back like an old man. 

Mechanically he looked at the remains and ex- 
amined the gun and the axe — Ed had brought 
out but one of the axes found by the rock with 
the remains — and said, “Th’ gun’s not Bob’s. 
Th’ axe were his.” 

Th’ gun’s not Bob’s I ” exclaimed Mrs. Gray 
Th’ clothes is not Bob’s ! Now I knows ’tis 
not my boy we’ve found.” 

** Yes, Mary,” said he broken-heartedly. ** ’Tis 
Bob th’ wolves got. Our poor lad is gone No 
one else could ha’ had his things.” 

315 


UNGAVA BOB 


316 

He and Douglas made a coffin into which the 
remains were tenderly placed, and it was put 
upon a high platform near the house, out of reach 
of animals, there to rest until the spring, when 
the snow would be gone and it could be buried. 

For a whole week after this sad duty was per- 
formed the father sat by the cabin stove and 
brooded, a broken-hearted, dispirited counterpart 
of what he had been at the Christmas time. It 
was the man^s nature to be silent in seasons of 
misfortune. During the previous year, when 
luck had been so against him, this characteristic 
of silent brooding had shown itself markedly, but 
then he did not remain in the house and neglect 
his work as he did now. He seemed to have lost 
all heart and all ambition. He scarcely troubled 
to feed the dogs, and the few tasks that he did 
perform were evidently irksome and unpleasant 
to him, as things that interfered with his reveries. 

From morning until night Richard Gray nursed 
the grief in his bosom, but never referred to the 
tragedy unless it was first mentioned by another ; 
and at such times he said as little as possible 
about it, answering questions briefly, offering 
nothing himself, and plainly showing that he did 
not wish to converse upon the subject. 


BACK AT WOLF BIGHT 


317 


Over and over again he reviewed to himself 
every phase of Bob’s life, from the time when, a 
wee lad. Bob climbed on his knee of an evening 
to beg for stories of bear hunts, and great gray 
wolves that harried the hunters, and how the 
animals were captured on the trail ; and through 
the years into which the little lad grew into youth 
and approached manhood, down to the day that 
he left home, looking so noble and stalwart, to 
brave, for the sake of those he loved, the unknown 
dangers that lurked in the rude, wild wastes be- 
yond the line of blue mysterious hills to the 
northward. And now the poor remains enclosed 
in the rough box that rested upon the scaffold 
outside were all that remained of him. And that 
was the end of all the plans that he and the 
mother had made for their son’s future, of all 
their hopes and fine pictures. 

Mrs. Gray had never seen her husband in so 
downcast and despondent a mood, and as the 
days passed she began to worry about him and 
finally became alarmed. He had lost all interest 
in everything, and had a strange, unnatural look 
in his eyes that she did not like. 

One evening she sat down by his side, and, 
taking his hand, said : 


318 


UNGAVA BOB 


** Be a brave man, Richard, and bear up. Th’ 
Lard’s never let Bob die so. That were not 
Bob as th’ wolves got. I’m knowin’ our lad’s 
somewheres alive. I were dreamin’ last night o’ 
seein’ he — an’ — I feels it — I feels it — an’ I can’t 
go agin my feelin’.” 

“ No, Mary, ’twere Bob,” he answered. 

“ I feels ’tweren’t, but if ’twere ’tis th’ Lard’s 
will, an’ ’tis our duty t’ be brave an’ bear up. 
’Tis hard — rare hard — but bear up, Richard — an’ 
bear un like a man. Remember, Richard, we 
has th’ maid spared to us.” 

And so, heart-broken though she was herself^ 
she comforted and encouraged him, as is the 
way of women, for in times of great misfortune 
they are often the braver of the sexes. Her hus- 
band did not know the hours of wakeful uncer- 
tainty and helplessness and despair that Mrs. 
Gray spent, as she lay long into the nights think- 
ing and thinking, until sometimes it seemed that 
she would go mad. 

Bessie, gentle and sympathetic, was the pillar 
upon which they all leaned during those first days 
after the dreadful tidings came. It was her pres- 
ence that made life possible. Like a good angel 
she moved about the house, unobtrusively minis- 


BACK AT WOLF BIGHT 


319 

tering to them, and Mrs. Gray more than once 
said, 

“Tm not knowin^ what we’d do, Bessie, if 
’twere not for you.” 

After a week of silent despondency the father 
roused himself to some extent from the lethargy 
into which he had fallen, and returned to his trail. 
The work brought back life and energy, and 
when, a fortnight later, he came back, he had re- 
sumed somewhat his old bearing and manner, 
though not all of the buoyancy. He entered the 
cabin with the old greeting — *‘An’ how’s my 
maid been wi’out her daddy ? ” It made the oth- 
ers feel better and happier ; and he was almost 
his natural self again when he left them for 
another period. 

The report of Bob’s death did not appear to 
affect Emily as greatly as her mother feared it 
would. She was silent, and took less interest in 
her doll, and seemed to be constantly expecting 
something to occur. One day after her father 
had left them she called her mother to her, and, 
taking her hand to draw her to a seat on the 
couch, asked : 

“ Mother, do angels ever come by day, or be 
it always by night ? ” 


320 


UNGAVA BOB 


“rm — rm — not knowin’, dear. They comes 
both times, Fm thinkin’ — but mostly by night — 
Fm — not knowing” faltered the mother. 

** Does un think Bob’s angel ha’ been cornin’ 
by night while we sleeps, mother? I been 
watchin’, an’ he’ve never come while I wakes — 
an’ Fm wonderin’ an’ wonderin’.” 

“ No — not while we sleeps — no — Fm not 
knowin’,” and then she buried her face in Emily’s 
pillow and wept. 

‘‘ Bob’s knowin’, mother, how we longs t’ see 
he,” continued Emily, as she stroked her mother’s 
hair, an’ he’d sure be cornin’ if he were killed. 
He’d sure be doin’ that so we could see un. But 
he’s not been cornin’, an’ Fm thinkin’ he’s livin’, 
just as you were sayin’. Bob’ll be home wi’ th’ 
break-up, mother, Fm thinkin’ — wi’ th’ break-up, 
mother, for his angel ha’ never come, as un sure 
would if he were dead.” 

On two or three other occasions after this — 
once in the night — Emily called Mrs. Gray to her 
to reiterate this belief. She would not accept 
even the possibility of Bob’s death without first 
seeing his angel, which she was so positive would 
come to visit them if he were really dead ; and it 
was this that kept back the grief that she would 


BACK AT WOLF BIGHT 


321 

have felt had she believed that she was never to 
see him again. 

Bessie remained with them until the last of 
February, when her father drove the dogs over 
to take her home, as many of the trappers were 
expected in from their trails about the first of 
March to spend a few days at the Post, and her 
mother needed her help with the additional work 
that this entailed. Emily was loath to part from 
her, but her father promised that she should re- 
turn again for a visit as soon as the break-up 
came and before the fishing commenced. 

Douglas Campbell was very good to the Grays, 
and at least once each week, and sometimes 
oftener, walked over to spend the day and cheer 
them up. Often he brought some little delicacy 
for Emily, and she looked forward to his visits 
with much pleasure. 

One day towards the last of May he asked 
Emily : 

‘‘ How’d un like P go t’ St. Johns an’ have th’ 
doctors make a fine, strong maid of un again ? 
I’m thinkin’ th’ mother’s needin’ her maid t’ help 
her now.” 

** Oh, I’d like un fine, sir I ” exclaimed Emily. 

** I’m thinkin’ we’ll have t’ send un. ’Twill be 


322 


UNGAVA BOB 


a long while away from home. You won^t be 
gettin’ lonesome now ? ” 

** Fm fearin’ I’ll be gettin’ lonesome for mother, 
but I’ll stand un t’ get well an’ walk again.” 

Now does un hear that,” said Douglas to 
Mrs. Gray, who at that moment came in from out 
of doors. “ Your little maid’s goin’ t’ St. Johns 
t’ have th’ doctors make she walk again, so she 
can be helpin’ wi’ th’ housekeepin’.” 

“ The’s no money t’ send she,” said Mrs. Gray 
sadly. “ ’Tis troublin’ me wonderful, an’ I’m not 
knowin’ what t’ do — ’tis troublin’ me so.” 

“I’m thinkin’ th’ money’ll be found t’ send she 
— I’m knowirH ’twill,” Douglas prophesied con- 
vincingly. “ Ed were sayin’ Bob had a rare lot 
o’ fur that he’d caught before th’ — before th’ New 
Year — a fine lot o’ martens an’ th’ silver foxes. 
Them’ll pay Bob’s debt an’ pay for th’ maid’s 
goin’ too. That’s what Bob were wantin’.” 

“ Did Ed say now as Bob were gettin’ all that 
fur ? ” she asked. “ I were feelin’ so sore bad 
over Bob’s goin’ I were never bearin’ un — I were 
not thinkin’ about th’ lad’s fur — I were thinkin’ 
o’ he.” 

“Aye, Ed were sayin’ that. Emily must be 
ready t’ go on th’ cruise t’ meet th’ first trip o’ 


BACK AT WOLF BIGHT 


323 

th* mail boat. Th^ maid must be leavin’ here by 
th’ last o’ June,” planned Douglas. 

“ But we’ll not be havin’ th’ money then — not 
till th’ men comes out, an’ then we has t’ sell th’ 
fur first t’ get th’ money,” Mrs. Gray explained. 
“ Then — then I hopes th’ maid may go. ’Tis 
what Bob were goin’ t’ th’ bush for — an’ takin’ 
all th’ risks for — my poor lad — he were countin’ 
on un so ” 

“ We’ll not be waitin’. We’ll not be waitin’. 
/ has th’ money now an’ th’ maid must be goin’ 
th’ first trip o’ th’ mail boat,” said Douglas, in an 
authoritative manner. 

** Oh, Douglas, you be wonderful good — so 
wonderful good.” And Mrs. Gray began to 
cry. 

** Now ! Now ! ” exclaimed the soft-hearted 
old trapper. “ ’Tis nothin’ t’ be cry in’ about. 
What un cry in’ for, now ? ” 

** I’m — not — knowin’ — only you be so good — 
an’ I were wantin’ so bad t’ have Emily go — I 
were wantin’ so wonderful bad — an’ ’twill save 
she — ’twill save she ! ” 

'' ’Tis no kindness. ’Tis no kindness. ’Tis 
Bob’s fur pays for un — no kindness o’ mine,” he 
insisted. 


324 


UNGAVA BOB 


Emily took Douglas^ hand and drew him to 
her until she could reach his face. Then with a 
palm on each cheek she kissed his lips, and with 
her arms about his neck buried her face for a mo- 
ment in his white beard. 

“ There I There ! ** he exclaimed when she 
had released him. Now what un makin’ love 
t’ me for ? '' 

Richard returned that evening from his last 
trip over his trail for the season, and he was much 
pleased with the arrangement as to Emily. 

“Your daddy’ll be lonesome wi’out un,” said 
he, “ but 'twill be fine t' think o’ my maid cornin’ 
back walkin’ again — rare fine.” 

“ An’ ’twill be rare hard t’ be goin’,” she said. 
“ I’m ’most wishin’ I weren’t havin’ t’ go.” 

“ But when you comes back, maid, you’ll be 
well, an’ think, now, how happy that’ll make 
un,” Mrs. Gray encouraged. “ Th’ Lard’s good 
t’ be providin’ th’ way. ’Twill be hard for un an’ 
for us all, but th’ Lard always pays us for th’ hard 
times an’ th’ sorrow He brings us, wi’ good times 
an’ a rare lot o’ happiness after, if we only waits 
wi’ patience an’ faith for un.” 

“ Aye, mother, I knows, an’ I ts glad — oh, so 
glad t’ know I’s t’ be well again,” said Emily 


BACK AT WOLF BIGHT 


325 


very earnestly. ‘‘ But,” she added, “ I’m thinkin’ 
’twould be so fine if you or daddy were goin’ 
wi’ me. Bob were countin’ on un so — I minds 
how Bob were countin’ on my goin’ — an’ he’s 
not here t’ know about un — an’ I feels wonderful 
bad when I thinks of un.” 

Of course it was quite out of the question for 
either the father or the mother to go with her, for 
that would more than double the expense and 
could not be afforded. There was no certainty 
as to how much would be coming to them after 
Bob’s share of the furs were sold. This could 
not be estimated even approximately for they had 
not so much as seen the pelts yet. Richard, 
grown somewhat pessimistic with the years of ill 
fortune, even doubted if, after Bob’s debt to Mr. 
MacDonald was paid, there would be sufficient 
left to reimburse Douglas for the money he had 
agreed to advance to meet Emily’s expenses. 
“ But then,” he said, I suppose ’twill work out 
somehow.” 

At last the great storm came that opened the 
rivers and smashed the bay ice into bits, and 
when the fury of the wind was spent and the rain 
ceased the sun came out with a new warmth that 
bespoke the summer close at hand. The tide 


326 


UNGAVA BOB 


carried the splintered ice to the open sea, wild 
geese honked overhead in their northern flight, 
seals played in the open water, and the loon’s 
weird laugh broke the wilderness silence. The 
world was awakening from its long slumber, and 
summer was at hand. 

Tom Black kept his word, and when the ice 
was gone brought Bessie over in his boat to stay 
with Emily until she should go to the hospital. It 
was a beautiful, sunny afternoon when they arrived 
and Bessie brought a good share of the sunshine 
into the cabin with her. 

“ Oh, Bessie 1 ” cried Emily, as her friend burst 
into the room. ‘‘ I were thinkin’ you’d not be 
cornin’, Bessie I Oh, ’tis fine t’ have you come !” 

Tom remained the night, and he and Bessie 
cheered up the Grays, for it had been a lonely, 
monotonous period since their last visit, and 
never a caller save Douglas had they had. 

Time, the great healer of sorrow, had some- 
what mitigated the shock of Bob’s disappearance, 
and had reconciled them to some extent to his 
loss. But now the sore was opened again when, 
one day, a grave was dug in the spruce woods 
behind the cabin, and the coffin, which had been 
resting upon the scaffold since January, was 


BACK AT WOLF BIGHT 


327 


taken down and reverently lowered into the earth 
by Richard and Douglas. Mrs. Gray, though 
still firm in the intuitive belief that her boy lived, 
wept piteously when the earth clattered down 
upon the box and hid it forever from view. 

‘‘ I knows ^tis not Bob,” she sobbed, ‘‘ but where 
is my lad? What has become o’ my brave 
lad?” 

Bessie, with wet eyes, comforted her with 
soothing words and gentle caresses. 

Richard and Douglas did their work silently, 
both certain beyond a doubt that it was Bob they 
had laid to rest. 

Nothing was said to Emily of the burial. 
That would have done her no good and they did 
not wish to give her the pain that it would have 
caused. 

The days were rapidly lengthening, and the 
sun coming boldly nearer the earth was tempering 
and mellowing the atmosphere, and every pleas- 
ant afternoon a couch was made for Emily out 
of doors, where she could bask in the sunshine, 
and breathe the air charged with the perfume 
of the spruce and balsam forest above, and drink 
in the wild beauties of the wilderness about her. 

Here she lay, alone, one day late in June, 


328 UNGAVA BOB 

while her mother and Bessie washed the dinner 
dishes before Bessie came out to join her, and 
her father and Douglas, who had come over to 
dinner, smoked their pipes and chatted in the 
house. She was listening to the joyous song of 
a robin, that had just returned from its far-off 
southland pilgrimage, and was thinking as she 
listened of the long, long journey that she was 
soon to take. Her heart was sad, for it was a 
sore trial to be separated all the summer from 
her father and mother and never see them 
once. 

She looked down the bight out towards the 
broader waters of the bay, for that was the way she 
was to go. Suddenly as she looked a boat turned 
the point into the bight. It was a strange boat 
and she could not see who was in it, but it held 
her attention as it approached, for a visitor was 
quite unusual at this time of the year. Presently 
the single occupant stood up in the boat, to get 
a better view of the cabin. 

“ Bob ! Bob ! Bob ! ” shouted Emily, quite 
wild and beside herself. Mother 1 Father 1 
Bob is coming ! Bob is coming ! ” 

Those in the house rushed out in alarm, for 
they thought the child had gone quite mad, but 


BACK AT WOLF BIGHT 


329 


when they reached her they, too, seemed to lose 
their reason. Mrs. Gray ran wildly to the sandy 
shore where the boat would land, extending her 
arms towards it and fairly screaming. 

My lad I Oh, my lad ! 

Bessie was at her heels and Richard and 
Douglas followed. 

When Bob stepped ashore his mother clasped 
him to her arms and wept over him and fondled 
him, and he, taller by an inch than when he left 
her, bronzed and weather-beaten and ragged, 
drew her close to him and hugged her again 
and again, and stroked her hair, and cried too, 
while Richard and Douglas stood by, blowing 
their noses on their red bandana handkerchiefs 
and trying to took very self-composed. 

When his mother let him go Bob greeted the 
others, forgetting himself so far as to kiss Bessie, 
who blushed and did not resent his boldness. 

Emily simply would not let him go. She held 
him tight to her, and called him her “ big, brave 
brother,” and said many times : 

** I were knowin* you’d come back to us, Bob. 
I were just knowirH you’d come back.” 

An hour passed in a babble of talk and ex- 
change of explanations almost before they were 


330 


UNGAVA BOB 


aware, and then Mrs. Gray suddenly realized that 
Bob had had no dinner. 

“ Now un must be rare hungry, Bob,” she ex- 
plained. “ Richard, carry Emily in with un now, 
an’ we’ll have a cup o’ tea wi’ Bob, while he has 
his dinner.” 

‘‘ Let me carry un,” said Bob, gathering Emily 
into his arms. 

In the house they were all so busy talking and 
laughing, while Mrs. Gray prepared the meal for 
Bob, that no one noticed a boat pull into the bight 
and three men land upon the beach below the 
cabin ; and so, just as they were about to sit 
down to the table, they were taken completely by 
surprise when the door opened and in walked 
Dick Blake, Ed Matheson and Bill Campbell. 

The three stopped short in open-mouthed as- 
tonishment 

“ ’Tis Bob’s ghost ! ” finally exclaimed Ed. 

They were soon convinced, however, that Bob’s 
hand grasp was much more real than that of any 
ghost, and the greetings that followed were up- 
roarious. 

Nearly the whole afternoon they sat around 
the table while Bob told the story of his adven- 
tures. A comparison of experiences made it quite 


BACK AT WOLF BIGHT 


331 


certain that the remains they had supposed to 
have been Bob’s were the remains of Micmac 
John and the mystery of the half-breed’s failure 
to return to the tilt for the pelts he had stolen 
was therefore cleared up. 

“ An’ th’ Nascaupees,” said Bob, “ be not fear- 
some murderous folk as we was thinkin’ un, but 
like other folks, an’ un took rare fine care o’ me. 
I’m thinkin’ they’d not be hurtin’ white folks an’ 
white folk don’t hurt they^ 

Finally the men sat back from the table for a 
smoke and chat while the dishes were being 
cleared away by Mrs. Gray and Bessie. 

“ Now I were sure thinkin’ Bob were a ghost,” 
said Ed, as he lighted his pipe with a brand from 
the stove, and ’twere scarin’ me a bit. I never 

seen but one ghost in my life and that were 

“ We’re not wantin’ t’ hear that ghost yarn, 
Ed,” broke in Dick, and Ed forgot his story in 
the good-natured laughter that followed. 

The home-coming was all that Bob had hoped 
and desired it to be and the arrival of his three 
friends from the trail made it complete. His 
heart was full that evening when he stepped out 
of doors to watch the setting sun. As he gazed 
at the spruce-clad hills that hid the great, wild 


332 


UNGAVA BOB 


north from which he had so lately ccilie, the 
afterg^low blazed up with all its wondrous colour, 
glorifying the world and lighting the heavens and 
the water and the hills beyond with the radiance 
and beauty of a northern sunset. The spirit of it 
was in Bob’s soul, and he said to himself, 

“ ’Tis wonderful fine t’ be livin’, an’ ’tis a won- 
derful fine world t’ live in, ’twere seemin’ hard 
sometimes, in the winter. An’ th’ cornin’ home 
has more than paid for th’ trouble I were havin’ 
gettin’ here.” 


XXVII 


THE CRUISE TO ST. JOHNS 

W HEN Bob and the two Eskimos sailed 
the Maid of the North up the bay from 
Fort Pelican it was found advisable to 
run the schooner to an anchorage at Kenemish 
where she could lie with less exposure to the wind 
than at Wolf Bight, The moment she was made 
snug and safe Bob went ashore to Douglas 
Campbell’s cabin, where he learned that his old 
friend had gone to Wolf Bight early that morn- 
ing to spend the day. 

The lad’s impatience to reach home would 
brook no waiting, and so, leaving Netseksoak 
and Aluktook in charge of the vessel, he pro- 
ceeded alone in a small boat, reaching there as 
we have seen early in the afternoon. 

What to do with the schooner now that she 
had brought him safely to his destination was a 
problem that Bob had not been able to solve. 
The vessel was not his, and it was plainly his 
duty to find her owner and deliver the schooner 
to him, but how to go about it he did not know. 
333 


334 


UNGAVA BOB 


That evening when the candles were lighted and 
all were gathered around the stove, he put the 
question to the others. 

‘‘ I’m not knowin’ now who th’ schooner be- 
longs to,” said he, “ an’ I’m not knowin’ how t’ 
find th’ owner. I’m wonderin’ what t’ do with 
un.” 

“ ’Tis some trader owns un I’m thinkin’,” Mrs. 
Gray suggested. 

‘^’Tis sure some trader,” agreed Bob, “and 
the’s a rare lot o’ fur aboard she an’ the’s 
enough trader’s goods t’ stock a Post. Mr. 
Forbes were tellin’ me I should be gettin’ salvage 
for bringin’ she t’ port safe.” 

“ Aye,” confirmed Douglas, “ you should be 
gettin’ salvage. ’Tis th’ law o’ th’ sea an’ but 
right. We’ll ha’ t’ be lookin’ t’ th’ salvage for 
un lad.” 

“But how’ll we be gettin’ un now?” Bob 
asked, much puzzled. “ An’ how’ll we be findin’ 
th’ owner? ” 

“ Th’ owner,” explained Douglas, “ will be 
doin’ th’ findin’ hisself I’m thinkin’. But t’ get 
th’ salvage th’ schooner’ll ha’ t’ be took t’ St. 
Johns. Now I’m not knowin’ but I could pilot 
she over. ’Tis a many a long year since I were 


THE CRUISE TO ST. JOHNS 335 

there but Fm thinkin^ I could manage un, and 
we’ll make up a crew an’ sail she over.” 

‘‘ We’ll be needin’ five t’ handle she right,” 
said Bob. “’Twere wonderful hard gettin’ on 
wi’ just me an’ th’ two huskies. We’ll sure need 
five.” 

” Aye, ’twill need five of us,” assented Douglas. 
” I’m thinkin’ now Dick an’ Ed an’ Bill would 
like t’ be makin’ th’ cruise an’ seein’ St. Johns, 
an’ we has th’ crew right here.” 

The three men were not only willing to go but 
delighted with the prospect of the journey. 
They had never in their lives been outside the 
bay and the voyage offered them an opportunity 
to see something of the great world of which 
they had heard so much. 

“ I’ll be wantin’ t’ go home first,” said Dick, 
“ an’ so will Ed, but we’ll be t’ Kenemish an’ 
ready t’ start in three days.” 

“’Twill be a fine way t’ take th’ maid t’ th’ 
mail boat so th’ doctor can take she with un,” 
suggested Richard. 

“ An’ father an’ mother an’ Bessie can go t’ 
th’ mail boat with us,” spoke up Emily, from her 
couch. “ Oh, ’twill be fine t’ have you all go t’ 
th’ mail boat with me I ” 


336 


UNGAVA BOB 


And so this arrangement was made and car- 
ried out. On the appointed day every one was 
aboard the Maid of the Norths and with light 
hearts the voyage was begun. 

Two days later they reached Fort Pelican, when 
Netseksoak and Aluktook went ashore to await 
the arrival of the ship that was to take them to 
their far northern home, and Bob said good-bye 
to the two faithful friends with whom he had 
braved so many dangers and suffered so many 
hardships. 

The following morning the mail boat steamed 
in, and Emily was transferred to her in charge of 
the doctor, who greeted her kindly and promised, 

“You’ll be going home a new girl in the 
fall, and your father and mother won’t know 
you.” 

Nevertheless the parting from her friends was 
very hard for Emily, and the mother and child, 
and Bessie too, shed a good many tears, though 
the fact that she was to see Bob in a little while 
in St. Johns comforted Emily somewhat. 

When the mail boat was finally gone, Richard 
Gray, with his wife and Bessie, turned homeward 
in their dory, which had been brought down in 
tow of the Maid of the Norths and the schooner 


THE CRUISE TO ST. JOHNS 337 

spread her sails to the breeze and passed to the 
southward. 

With some delays caused by bad weather, three 
weeks elapsed before the Maid of the North one 
day, late in July, sailed through the narrows past 
the towering cliffs of Signal Hill, and anchored in 
the land-locked harbour of St. Johns. 

In the interim the mail boat had made another 
voyage to the north, and brought back with her 
Captain Hanks and his crew, who had worked 
their way to Indian Harbour in their open boat to 
await the steamer there. Of course Skipper Sam 
had heard that Bob was coming with the Maid 
of the Norths and when the schooner finally 
reached her anchorage he was on the lookout for 
her, and at once came aboard with much bluster- 
ing, to demand her immediate delivery. He be- 
lieved he had some unsophisticated livyeres to 
deal with, whom he could easily browbeat out of 
their rights. What was his surprise, then, when 
Douglas stepped forward, and said very authori- 
tatively : 

“ Bide a bit, now, skipper. When ’tis decided 
how much salvage you pays th^ lad, an’ after you 
pays un, you’ll be havin’ th’ schooner an’ her 
cargo, an’ not till then.” 


338 


UNGAVA BOB 


Bob’s first thought upon going ashore was of 
Emily, and he went immediately to the hospital 
to see her. The operation had been performed 
nearly two weeks previously and she was re- 
covering rapidly. When he was admitted to the 
ward, and she glimpsed him as he entered the 
door, her delight was almost beyond bounds. 

“Oh! Oh I ’’she exclaimed, when he kissed 
her. “ ’Tis fine t’ see un. Bob — ’tis so fine. An’ 
now- I’ll be gettin’ well wonderful quick.” 

And she did. She was discharged from the 
hospital quite cured a month later. At first she 
was a little weak, but youth and a naturally 
strong constitution were in her favour, and she 
regained her strength with remarkable rapidity. 

Finally a settlement was arranged with Cap- 
tain Hanks. The furs on board the Maid of 
the North were appraised at market value, and 
when Bob received his salvage he found himself 
possessed of fifteen thousand dollars. 

He reimbursed Douglas the amount advanced 
for Emily’s hospital expenses, but the kind old 
trapper would not accept another cent, though the 
lad wished to pay him for his services in piloting 
the vessel to St. Johns. 

“ Put un in th’ bank. You’ll be needin’ un 


THE CRUISE TO ST. JOHNS 339 

some day f start un in life. Hold on t^ un/^ 
was the good advice that Douglas gave, and ac- 
cordingly the money was deposited in the bank. 

Bob’s share of the furs that he had trapped 
himself he very generously insisted upon giving 
to Dick and Ed and Bill. They were diffident 
about accepting them at first, saying : 

** We were doin’ nothin’ for un.” 

But Bob pressed the furs upon them, and 
finally they accepted them. The silver fox 
which he wept over that cold December evening 
sold for four hundred and fifty dollars, and the 
one Dick found frozen in the trap by the deer’s 
antlers for three hundred dollars. 

Neither did Bob forget Netseksoak and Aluk- 
took. Money would have been quite useless to 
the Eskimos as he well knew, so he sent them 
rifles and many things which they could use and 
would value. 

Laden with gifts for the home folks, and 
satiated with looking at the shops and great 
buildings and wonders of St. Johns, they were a 
very happy party when at last the mail boat 
steamed northward with them. 

Bob Gray was very proud of his little chum 
when, one beautiful September day, his boat 


340 


UNGAVA BOB 


ground its prow upon the sands at Wolf Bight^ 
and with all the strength and vigour of youth she 
bounded ashore and ran to meet the expectant 
and happy parents. 

As, with full hearts, the reunited family of 
Richard Gray walked up the path to the cabin. 
Bob said reverently : 

“ Th^ Lard has ways o’ doin’ things that seem 
strange an’ wonderful hard sometimes when He’s 
doin’ un ; but He always does un right, an’ a rare 
lot better’ n we could plan.” 


XXVIII 


IN AFTER YEARS 

D uring the twenty years that have 
elapsed since the incidents transpired 
that are here recorded, the mission 
doctors and the mission hospitals have come to 
The Labrador to give back life and health to the 
unfortunate sick and injured folk of the coast, who 
in the old days would have been doomed to die 
or to go through life helpless cripples or invalids 
for the lack of medical or surgical care, as 
would have been the case with little Emily but 
for the efforts of her noble brother. New people, 
too, have come into Eskimo Bay, though on the 
whole few changes have taken place and most 
of the characters met with in the preceding 
pages still live. 

Douglas Campbell in the fullness of years has 
passed away. But he is not forgotten, and in the 
spring-time loving hands gather the wild flowers, 
which grow so sparsely there, and scatter them 
upon the mossy mound that marks his resting 
place. 


34 * 


342 


UNGAVA BOB 


Ed Matheson to this day tells the story of the 
adventures of Ungava Bob — as Bob Gray has 
thenceforth been called — not forgetting to em- 
bellish the tale with flights of fancy; and of 
course Dick Blake warns the listeners that these 
imaginative variations are “just some o’ Ed’s 
yarns,” and Bob laughs at them good-naturedly. 

It may be asked to what use Bob put his newly 
acquired wealth, and the reader’s big sister, 
should this book fall into her hands, will surely 
wish to know whether Bob and Bessie married, 
and what became of Manikawan. But these are 
matters that belong to another story that perhaps 
some day it may seem worth while to tell. 

For the present, adieu to Ungava Bob. 


THE END 


%jcilph Connor^s 

W O 'K K S 


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St. Louts Globe Democrat; Ralph Connor is some man’s nom de 
^lume. The world will insist on knowing whose. With entire fidel- 
ity, with truest pathos, with freshest humor, he has delineated char- 
acter, has analyzed motives, and has portrayed life. 

The Standard: Who it is that hides behind the assumed name of 
Ralph Connor we have no means of knowing ; but, whoever it is, the 
cause of righteousness is his debtor. . . . The book is well written. 
It is vital. It has to do with real men and women and with living 
issues. 

Boston Transcript: Ralph Connor uses a pen dipped in the very 
colors and tones of the canyon and sunlit hills. ... It touches just 
the chords which vibrate luxuriously in the popular heart. 

4 SOth 1000 


A Tale of the Foothills 


The Sky Pilot 

Illustrated by Louis Rhead. 

i2ino. cloth, Illustrated, ^^1.25 

« 

The Outlook: “Ralph Connor’s ‘Black Rock’ was good, but 
the ‘Sky Pilot’ is better. The matter which he gives us is real life, 
virile, true, tender, humorous, pathetic, spiritual, wholesome. His 
Bret Harte manner in describing his life has at times a distinct and 
refreshing quality of literary workmanship ; his style, fresh, crisp and 
terse, accords with the Western life, which he well understands. 
Henceforth the foothills of the Canadian Rockies will probably be as- 
sociated in many a mind with the name of ‘Ralph Connor.* ’’ 

Boston Transcript : “Ralph Connor uses a pen dipped In the 
very colors and tones of the canyon and the sunlit hills, his grasp 
of the characteristic slang is free and graphic, and his knowledge of 
the primitive vices and virtues is obviously no mere book-lore. Such 
a tale is sure to find numerous reader, for it touches just those chords 
vyh*'*’’ vibrate luxuriously in the popular heart" 

260th 1000 


By NORMAN DUNCAN 


Doctor Luke nLahrador 


i2mo, Cloth, $1.50. 


N.Y. Evening Post i **Mr. Duncan is deserving of much praise 
for this, his first novel. ... In his descriptive passages Mr, Duncan is 
sincere to the snaallest detail. His characters are painted in with 
bold, wide strokes. . . . Unlike most first novels, ‘Dr. Luke’ waxes 
stronger as it progresses.” 

Henry van Dyke : "It is a real book, founded on truth and 
lighted with imagination, well worth reading and remembering.” 

Review of Reviews : "Mr. Duncan has added a new province to 
the realm of literature. This strong, beautiful love story moves with a 
distinctive rhythm that is as fresh as it is new. One of the season s 
two or three best books.” 

Hamilton W. Mabie, in the Ladiesi Home Journal: "Full of in- 
cidents, dramatically told, of the heroism and romance of humble life ; 
strong, tender, pathetic ; one of the most wholesome stories of the 
season.” 

Current Literature : "Beyond a peradventure, ranks as one of the 
most remarkable novels issued in 1904. Stands out so prominently in 
the year’s fiction that there is little likelihood of its being over- 
shadowed.” 

London Punch: "Since Thackeray wrote the last word of ‘Colonel 
Newcome,’ nothing finer has been written than the parting scene 
where Skipper Tommy Lovejoy, the rugged old fisherman, answers 
the last call.” 

Saturday Evening Post : "There is enough power in this little 
volume to magnetize a dozen of the popular novels of the winter.” 

Sir Robert Bond, Premier of Newfoundland: "I shall prize the 
book. It is charmingly written, and faithfully portrays the simple 
lives of the noble-hearted fisher folk.” 

Brooklyn Eagle: "Norman Duncan has fulfilled all that was ex- 
pected of him in this story ; it establishes him beyond question as one 
of the strong masters of present-day fiction.” 


SINTH EDITION 


A iale of the '‘'’Robinson Crusoe” or Treasure Island” type^ 
•with an individuality all its own. 

By NORMAN DUNCAN 

The Adventures of 
Billy Topsail 

Third Edition, Illustrated, $1.50 

A ripping story of adventure by sea is regarded 
by every true-hearted boy as the very best story 
of all. The yarn — that’s the thing ! If the 
sea is a northern sea, full of ice and swept by big 
gales, if the adventures are real, if the hero is not a 
prig, if the tale concerns itself with heroic deeds and 
moves like a full-rigged ship with all sail spread to a 
rousing breeze, the boy will say Bully!” and read 
die story again. “The Adventures of Billy Top- 
sail” is a book to be chummy with. It is crowded 
with adventure, every page of it, from the tims 
young Billy is nearly drowned by his dog, until in 
)ig blizzard, lost on an ice-floe, he rescues Sir Archi- 
bald’ s son, and the old Dictator weathers the gale. 

There is “something doing” every minute — 
something exciting and real and inspiring. The book 
is big enough and broad enough to make Billy Top- 
sail a tried friend of every reader — just the sort of 
friend Archie found him to be. And Billy is good 
company. He is not a prig; he is a real boy, full of 
spirit and fun and courage and the wish to distinguish 
himself. In a word, as the lads say, he’s “all right, 
all right!” He sails, fishes, travels the ice, goes 
whaling, is swept to sea with the ice, captures 
a devil-fish, hunts a pirates’ cave, gets lost on a cliff, 
is wrecked, runs away to join a sealer, and makes 
himself interesting in a hundred ways. He’s a 
good chum, in calm or gale, on water, ice or shore 
—that’s what Billy Topsail o’ Ruddy Cove is. 


By R. E. KNOWLES 


The Undertow 

A Tale of Both Sides of the Sea, $1.50 

Have you never seen a strong swimmer, with set face and stiff- 
ening muscles, fight for his life with the terrible grip of the under- 
tow— and conquer— only to fall limp and almost lifeless on the 
sand, just strength enough left to answer back a smile to the face 
that looks so anxiously into his? 

So Stephen fought— fought in the old home, in classic Edin- 
burgh, in London’s maelstrom, in the city church, always with his 
ever present arch enemy, self, and won. His story is that of many, 
told with fervor and pathos, the sympathy that helps, not the 
scorn that scorches. 

Mr. Knowles has the bom story teller’s gift of making the com- 
monplaces of life appear in their real magnitude and meaning. 
It is a big theme, handled with masterly skill and in spite of a 
severe probing of our common weakness its aftermath is sweet. 


TENTH EDITION 

St, Cuthberfs 

A Parish Romance, $1.50 

New York Mail: “Mr. Knowles has a sense of humor that 
sparkles in these pages, a genuine love of humanity, gentle 
patience with its weakness, and a fine recognition of its noble 
qualities. The book is very human.” 

Boston Herald : “The book breathes a spirit of tenderness and 
nobility, which is refreshing and inspiring. Some of the charac- 
ters deserve a special setting, so lovingly has this big-hearted, 
whole-souled man written them.” 

London Daily Chronicle: “Charming, full of pawky Scots 
humour and that subtle pathos which seems a part of Scots hu- 
mour and life. . . . There is many a smile to be brought from 
these pages, and not a few tears. Mr. Knowles is a new writer 
who promises to be a light in the literary firmament.” 

Edinburgh Scotsman: “It would be difficult to praise too 
highly this new work. There is very little indeed in the ever- 
growing literature of that school v/hich can excel Mr. Knowles’ 
sketches of the life and doings in a Scot’s kirk and a Scot’s 
community.” 


NORMAN DUNCAN 


2>r. Grenfell* s Tarish 

i6 Illustrations, Cloth, $1,00 aet. 

Outlook: “It is a series of sketches of Grenfell’s work in Labrador. 
A very rare picture the author has given of a very rare man ; a true 
story of adventure which we should like to see in the hands of every 
boy and of every man of whatever age who still retains anything of 
a boyish heroism in his soul.” 

N. Y. Globe: “Mr. Duncan has given a very moving picture of 
the dreadfully hard life of the northern fishermen. He has included 
dozens of the little cameos of stories, true stories, as he vouches, full of 
human nature as it is exhibited in primitive conditions.” 

Congregationalist : “Norman Duncan draws vivid pictures of the 
Labrador and the service which Dr. Grenfell has rendered to its 
people. It is a fascinating tale and told with real enthusiam and 
charm The unusual stage of action and the chivalrous quality of the 
hero, oace known, lay hold upon the imagination and will not let go.’' 

Fifth Edition 

^ ^ ^ 

By DR. WILFRED T. GRENFELL 


The Hardest of the Sea 

16 Illustrations, Cloth, $1,00 net. 

New York Sun: “Relates the life of the North Sea fisherman on 
the now famous Dogger Bank ; the cruel apprenticeship, the bitter 
fife, the gallant deeds of courage and of seamanship, the evils of 
drink, the work of the deep sea mission. These are real sea tales 
that will appeal to every one who cares for salt water, and are told 
admirably.” 

N. Y. Tribune: “Dr. Grenfell tells, in fiction form, but with strict 
adherence to fact, how the mission to deep sea fishermen came to be 
founded among the fishing fleets that frequent the Dogger Bank that 
has figured prominently in the recent international complication. 
It is a story rich in adventure and eloquent of accomplishments for 
the betterment of the men.” 

Chicago Tribune: “It is a plain unvarnished tale of the real life 
of the deep sea fishermen and of the efforts which Grenfell’s mission 
makes to keep before their minds the words of Him who stilled the 
Waters and who chose His bosom disciples from men such as they,” 

Brooklyn Eagle: “A robust, inspiring book, making us better ao 
quainted with a man of the right sort, doing a man’s work.” 

Fifth Edition 




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